ZbC  XTU^Or  SbafteSPCare     i«  published  in  thirty-mne 

volumes,  including  all  of 
the  plaj'8  and  poems,  each  imder  the  special  editorship  of  an  American 
scholar.  The  general  editors  are  William  Allan  Neilson,  Ph.D., 
of  Harvard  University,  and  Ashley  Horace  Thorndike,  Ph.D., 
L.H.D.,  of  Columbia  University. 

Romeo  and  Juliet  —  The  General  Editors. 

A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream  —  John  W.  Cunlitfe,  D.Lit.,  Profes- 
sor of  English,  Columbia  University. 

Macbeth  —  Arthttr  C.  L.  Brown,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English,  North- 
western University. 

Heixry  IV,  Part  I  — Frank  W.  Chandler,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  Eng- 
lish and  Comparative  Literature,  University  of  Cincinnati. 

Troilus  and  Cressida  —  John  S.  P.  Tatlock,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  Eng- 
lish, University  of  Michigan. 

Henry  V  —  Lewis  F.  Mott,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English,  College  of  the 
City  of  New  York. 

The  Merchant  of  Venice  — Harrt  M.  Atres,  Ph.D.,  Aseifltant  Pro- 
fessor of  Englieh,  Columbia  University. 

As  You  Like  It  —  Martha  H.  Shackford,  Ph.D.,  Associate  Professor 
of  English  Literature,  Wellesley  College. 

Coriolanus  —  Stuart  P.  Sherman,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English,  Uni- 
versity of  Illinois. 

Henry  VI,  Part  I  —  Louise  Pound,  Ph.D.,  Assistant  Professor  of  Eng- 
lish, University  of  Nebraska. 

Henry  VIII  —  Charles  G.  Dunlap,  Litt.D.,  Professor  of  Englieh  Lit- 
erature, University  of  Kansas. 

Comedy  of  Errors  —  Frederick  Morgan  Padelford,  Ph.D.,  Pro- 
fessor of  English,  University  of  Washington. 

King  John  —  Henry  M.  Belden,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English,  Uni- 
versity of  Missouri. 

King  Lear — Virginia  C.  GiLDEBaLEEVE,  Ph.D.,  Dean  of  Barnard 
College. 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing  —William  W.  Lawrence,  Ph.D.,  Asaociate 
Professor  of  English,  Columbia  University. 

Love's  Labour's  Lost  — James  F.  Royster,  Ph.D.,  Profesaor  of  Eng- 
lish, University  of  North  Carolina. 

Henry  IV,  Part  II  — Elizabeth  Deering  Hanscom,  Ph.D.,  Pro- 
fessor of  English,  Smith  College. 

Richard  III  — George  B.  Churchill,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English, 
Amherst  College. 


The  Winter's  Tale  —  Laura  J.  Wylie,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English, 
Vassar  College. 

Othello  —  Thomas  M.  Parrott,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English,  Prince- 
ton University. 

The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  —  Martin  W.  Sampson,  A.M., Gold- 
win  Smith  Professor  of  English  Literature,  Cornell  University. 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well  —  John  L.  Lowes,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  Eng- 
lish, Washington  University,  St.  Louis. 

Richard  II  —  Hardin  Craig,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Minnesota. 

Measure  for  Measure  —  Edgar  C.  Morris,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Eng- 
lish, Syracuse  University. 

Twelfth  Night  —  Walter  Morris  Hart,  Ph.D.,  Associate  Professor 
of  English,  University  of  California. 

The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  —  Frederick  Tupper,  Jr.,  Ph.D.,  Pro- 
fessor of  English,  University  of  Vermont. 

Julius  C8esar  —  Robert  M.  Lovett,  A.B.,  Professor  of  English, 
University  of  Chicago. 

Timon  of  Athens  —  Robert  Huntington  Fletcher,  Ph.D.,  Pro- 
fessor of  English  Literature,  Grinnell  College,  Iowa. 

Venus  and  Adonis,  and  Lucrece  —  Carleton  Brown,  Ph.D.,  Pro- 
fessor of  English,  Bryn  Mawr  College. 

Henry  VI,  Part  III  —  Robert  Adger  Law,  Ph.D.,  Adjunct  Professor 
of  English,  the  University  of  Texas. 

Cymbeline  —  Will  D.  Howe,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English,  Indiana 
University. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  —  Fred  P.  Emeby,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Eng- 
lish. Dartmouth  College. 

Titus  Andronicus  —  Elmer  E.  Stoll,  Ph.D., 

Pericles  —  C.  Alphonso  Smith,  Ph.D.,  Edgar  Allan  Poe  Professor  of 
English,  University  of  Virginia. 

The  Sonnets  —  Raymond  M.  Alden,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English, 
University  of  Illinois. 

Hamlet  —  George  Pierce  Baker,  A.B.,  Professor  of  Dramatic  Lit- 
erature, Harvard  University. 

Henry  VI,  Part  II  —  Charles  H.   Barnwell,   Ph.D.,  Professor  of 

English,  University  of  Alabama. 

The  Tempest  —  Herbert  E.  Greene,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  English, 
Johns  Hopkins  University. 

Antony  and  Cleopatra  —  George  Wyllyb Benedict,  Ph.D.,  Associate 
P*rofe8Sor  of  English,  Brown  University. 


^i}z  ®«t  nseU  is  tfjc  Keilson  STcit  copgrigljttlJ  in  X906 
bu  ®2Hlilltam  ^llan  Wcilson 


Copsrtflljt,  1912 
13g  STfje  ilHacmillan  Compang 

Jitat  rtitton  of  tfjis  issue  of  "all's  5:S5eII  tf)at  EnUs  WSiell' 
printed  Beamier,  1912 


V 


v 


Zn  5  4 

^  ^ntjtoDurtton 

^  Text.  —The  only  authority  for  the  text  is  the  First 
Folio  (Fi),  and  the  play  was  recorded  in  the  Stationers' 
Register,  under  date  of  November  8,  1623,  among  those 
"  not  formerly  entered  to  other  men."  The  text  of  1623 
is  reprinted  in  the  Second,  Third,  and  Fourth  Folios.  Few 
of  Shakespeare's  plays  show  a  greater  number  of  textual 

r^  corruptions,  and  editorial  conjectures  and  emendations  are 

^^  particularly  munerous. 

Date    of    Composition.      —The   problem  of   the  date  of 

All's  Well  that  Ends   Well  has  been  complicated  by  the 

frequent  identification  of  the  play  with  the  Love's  Labour's 

Won  of  Meres's  Ust,  and  by  the  strong  probabiUty  that 

i  All's  Well  as  it  has  come  down  to  us  represents  a  recasting 

^  of  an  earUer  play.     There  is  no  external  evidence  for  the 

«  date  which  is  convincing. 

^  The  identity  of  All's  Well  with  Love's  Labour's  Won 
is  insusceptible  of  positive  proof.  The  fitness  of  Meres's 
title  to  the  present  play  is  perhaps  not  open  to  very  serious 
objection.  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  has  been  strongly 
put  forward  as  a  rival  claimant  for  the  honor,^  but  the 
victory  in  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  is  scarcely  that  of  love. 

1  See    A.    H.    Tolman,     "Shakespeare's    'Love's    Labour's 
Won'  "  in  The  Views  About  Hamlet  (1904).  pp.  245-313,  re- 
printed from    The  Decennial  Publications  of  the  University  0/ 
Chicago,  First  Series,  vol.  vii,  pp.  159-190. 
vii 


vii!  UntroDttCtion 

In  either  case  the  identification  rests  upon  the  assumption 
that  Love's  Labour's  Won  has  been  preserved.  But  the 
loss  of  an  early  play,  before  Shakespeare's  fame  was 
established,  is  perhaps  not  so  remarkable  a  thing  as  some- 
times seems  to  be  implied.  And  any  argument  for  a 
date  before  1598  which  rests  upon  the  supposed  identifi- 
cation with  Love's  Labour's  Won  demands  corroboration. 

The  majority  of  the  more  recent  editors  and  commenta- 
tors have  seen  in  All's  Well  indications  of  both  late  and 
early  work,  although  others  have  failed  to  recognize 
any  evidence  pointing  to  more  than  a  single  date  of  com- 
position, at  a  period  of  transition  in  Shakespeare's  style. 
The  large  percentage  of  rhymed  couplets,  the  three  stanza- 
groups,  the  Euphuism  of  certain  passages,  and  "the 
lyrical  sweetness  "  of  others  have  especially  been  appealed 
to  as  indicating  earlier  workmanship.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  strongly  elliptical  character  of  much  of  the  blank 
verse,  the  pregnancy  of  diction,  deep  reflectiveness  and 
**  sinewy  sternness  "  of  certain  passages,  and  the  depth 
of  insight  often  shov/n  in  characterization  have  seemed 
to  evince  decided  maturity  of  treatment.  Two  dates  — 
the  one  of  original  composition,  the  other  of  revision  or 
recasting  —  have  therefore  very  commonly  been  assumed. 
Chiefly  through  the  influence  of  the  supposed  identity 
of  All's  Well  with  Love's  Labour's  Won  the  date  of  com- 
position has  been  usually  assigned  to  the  early  '90's; 
the  date  of  revision,  with  somewhat  less  agreement,  to 
the  early  years  of  the  next  decade. 

The  evidence  for  a  very  early  date  of  composition,  how- 
ever, is  not  thoroughly  convincing.     The  four  long  rhymed 


3|ntroDuccton  ix 

passages  (I.  i.  231-244;  n.  i.  133-213;  H.  iii.  78-110 
—  ezcluding  prose  comments;  II.  iii.  132-151)  on  which 
the  argument  for  the  early  'go's  chiefly  rests,  differ 
markedly  in  their  character  from  the  rhymed  passages  of 
a  corresponding  type  in  the  plays  known  to  belong  to  that 
period,  and  the  first  three  suggest  in  their  structure  and 
function  a  date  in  the  later  rather  than  the  earlier  years 
of  that  decade.  The  fourth  passage  (11.  iii.  132-151) 
is  freer  in  its  construction  than  any  of  the  longer  rhymed 
passages  even  in  the  plays  of  the  late  '90's,  and  corresponds 
most  closely  with  the  groups  of  rhymed  couplets  appear- 
ing in  the  very  latest  plays,  notably  with  Winter's  Tale, 
IV.  i.  1-32.  Moreover,  an  application  of  the  usual  metrical 
tests  to  the  blank  verse  of  the  passages  generally  recog- 
nized as  *'  late  "  gives  results  which  point  to  a  date,  for 
these  passages,  little,  if  any,  earlier  than  the  Romances, 
Cymbeline,  Winter's  Tale,  and  The  Tempest.  And  the 
blank  verse  of  the  **  early  "  portions  of  the  play  corre- 
sponds more  closely  to  the  verse  of  Twelfth  Night,  Much 
Ado,  and  Hamlet  than  to  that  of  the  earliest  comedies. 
The  characterization  of  the  King  and  the  Countess  is 
entirely  in  keeping  with  the  treatment  of  men  and  women 
of  advanced  years  in  the  latest  plays,  and  the  character- 
ization in  general  bears  few  marks  of  the  period  of  such 
plays  as  Love's  Labour's  Lost.  Where  the  evidence  is  so 
largely  metrical  and  esthetic  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  All's 
Well  that  Ends  Well,  only  the  most  cautious  statements 
are  warranted.  But  so  far  as  such  evidence  goes,  it  seems 
to  point  with  considerable  probability  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  play  was  first  written  not  far  from  the  date  that 
has  of  late  been   commonly  assigned   to   its   revision; 


X  ^Introduction 

namely,  in  the  period  from  1598  to  1600  or  1601 ;  and  that 
it  was  worked  over  at  a  date  very  near  that  of  the  latest 
tragedies,  and  not  long  (if  at  all)  before  the  Romances  — 
say  1606-1608. 

Source  of  Plot,  —  The  story  of  the  play  is  drawn  from 
the  ninth  novel  of  the  third  day  of  the  Decameron,  which 
Shakespeare  knew  as  it  was  translated  in  Paynter's  Palace 
of  Pleasure.  It  has  been  suggested  by  Klein  that  the  Vir- 
ginia of  Bernardo  Accolti  (of  which  there  are  editions  from 
1513  to  1535),  an  Italian  tragi-comedy  based  also  upon 
Boccaccio's  story,  constitutes  a  supplementary  source,  but 
this  view  has  not  met  with  acceptance,  and  the  evidence 
for  it  is  entirely  unconvincing. 

The  most  important  variations  between  the  Paynter- 
Boccaccio  story  and  the  play,  in  addition  to  changes  of 
names,  —  Bertram  for  Beltramo,  Helena  for  Giletta,  — 
are  the  following :  — 

The  Countess,  Parolles,  the  Clown,  and  Lafeu  are  all 
added;  Giletta  of  the  story  is  rich,  has  refused  many 
suitors,  and  has  kinsfolk  of  her  own;  on  her  arrival  in 
Paris,  her  first  step  is  to  see  Beltramo ;  the  King  and  not 
Giletta  suggests  as  her  reward  the  bestowal  upon  her  of  a 
husband,  whom  Giletta  merely  requests,  thereupon,  that 
she  may  choose ;  the  choice  of  Beltramo  is  not  made  in  his 
presence,  but  he  is  called  in  later  to  hear  of  it ;  after  Bel- 
tramo's  desertion  (which  is  not  motivated  beforehand, 
as  in  the  play),  Giletta  returns  to  Rossiglione,  and  devotes 
herself  to  the  care  and  improvement  of  Beltramo's  estate, 
rendering  herself  greatly  beloved  by  his  subjects;    as 


31ntroDttctiou  xi 

Beltramo  does  not  return,  Giletta  sends  him  word  that  she 
is  willing  to  leave  Rossiglione,  should  that  insure  his 
return,  and  it  is  in  reply  to  this  message  of  Giletta  that 
Beltramo  writes  his  letter ;  when  Giletta  leaves,  she  does 
so  publicly,  telling  her  subjects  that  she  has  determined 
to  spend  the  rest  of  her  days  in  pilgrimages  and  devotion ; 
the  widow  at  whose  house  she  stays  in  Florence  is  not 
Diana's  mother,  but  a  neighbor  of  her  mother,  who  is  also 
a  widow  and  a  gentlewoman ;  Giletta  remains  in  Florence, 
after  Beltramo  has  returned  home,  until  the  birth  of  twin 
sons ;  in  the  denouement  neither  Diana  nor  the  King  is 
present,  but  Giletta  simply  appears,  in  poor  apparel,  with 
her  two  sons  in  her  arms,  at  a  feast  which  Beltramo  is 
giving,  and  weeping,  claims  her  rights ;  there  is  no  mention 
whatever  of  a  second  ring. 

Stage  History,— Qmng  to  the  rather  unsympathetic 
character  of  its  plot,  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well  has  never 
been  popular  on  the  stage.  There  is  no  extant  contem- 
porary reference  to  it,  and  the  first  record  of  its  perform- 
ance is  in  1 74 1.  It  was  performed  a  number  of  times 
during  the  eighteenth  century,  notably  by  John  Kemble, 
and  was  revived  at  least  twice  in  the  nineteenth  century. 
But  on  none  of  these  occasions  does  the  venture  seem  to 
have  met  with  great  success. 

Relations  to  Contemporary  Drama.  —  In  the  absence  of 
any  certainty  regarding  the  date  of  All's  Well  that  Ends 
Well^  it  is  impossible  to  speak  with  assurance  of  its  rela- 
tions to  contemporary  drama.  The  play  has  been  very 
commonly  associated  with  Measure  for  Measure  and 
Troilus  and  Cressida.     With  the  former  it  agrees  in  the 


xii  31ntroDuction 

repellent  device  by  which  the  denouement  is  brought 
about,  and  it  shares  with  both  a  more  or  less  cynical  and 
ironic  tone.  This  atmosphere  of  disillusion  which  per- 
vades the  three  plays  has  been  interpreted  by  many 
critics  as  the  expression  of  a  mood  through  which  Shake- 
speare himself  was  passing,  —  "a  mood  of  contemptuous 
depreciation  of  life,"  —  and  has  been  frequently  brought 
into  connection  with  the  supposed  intrigue  which  underlies 
the  Sonnets.  But  such  an  explanation  of  the  play  is,  to 
say  the  least,  of  very  questionable  validity.  The  somber- 
ness  of  mood  and  the  combined  bitterness  and  levity 
which  have  been  seen  in  the  plays  have  often  been  taken 
too  seriously.  And  the  temporary  preoccupation  of  a  power- 
ful and  supremely  sane  mind  with  the  more  repellent 
phenomena  of  life  and  character  may  not  legitimately  be 
interpreted  as  indications  of  morbid  introspection  or  per- 
sonal disillusionment  on  the  part  of  Shakespeare  himself. 

Style,  — The  style  of  the  play,  as  has  already  been 
pointed  out,  is  remarkably  uneven.  In  the  dialogue,  for 
example,  between  the  King  and  Helena,  in  Act  II,  Scene  i, 
blank  verse  which  combines  the  utmost  flexibility  of 
rhythm  with  a  richly  connotative  diction  and  embodies 
a  brooding,  reminiscent  reflectiveness,  passes,  without 
change  of  speakers  or  theme,  into  rhymed  couplets,  in 
which  the  subject  in  hand  is  overlaid  with  the  common-, 
places  of  reflection,  and  the  diction  is  relatively  bare  of 
suggestion.  In  the  first  scene  of  the  play  Helena  speaks 
in  two  quite  different  sorts  of  blank  verse  —  the  one  clear, 
flowing,  and  mature ;  the  other  alliterative,  conceited,  and 
antithetical  —  and  also  in  rhjoned  couplets.    These  are 


3|ntroDuction  xiii 

fairly  typical  cases,  and  the  result  for  the  play  as  a  whole 
is  a  curious  effect  of  uneven  texture,  almost  of  strati- 
fication. The  play  abounds  in  obscurities  of  phrase, 
which  are  partly  due  to  corruption  of  the  text,  partly  to 
the  tendency  toward  compressed  and  elliptical  expression 
which  marked  the  later  stages  of  Shakespeare's  develop- 
ment. 

Interpretation.  _  That  the  play  has  any  definite  ethical 
purpose,  or  is  intended  to  teach  any  specific  lesson,  one 
may  safely  doubt.  It  was  inevitable  that  Shakespeare, 
in  dealing  with  the  materials  which  he  found,  should  set 
himself  to  motivate  more  fully  the  actions  involved,  and 
should  so  throw  into  stronger  relief  moral  values.  All 
the  stories  of  the  third  day  of  the  Decameron  deal  with 
"the  adventm-es  of  such  persons  as  have  acquired,  by 
their  diligence,  something  greatly  wanted  hy  them."  In 
all  the  stress  is  laid  on  the  gratification  of  sensual  desire, 
and  even  in  the  story  of  Giletta  of  Narbonne  it  is  upon 
the  device  by  which  the  heroine  fulfils  her  husband's 
condition  that  the  emphasis  falls.  In  AlPs  Well,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  purity  and  strength  of  Helena's  character, 
as  Shakespeare  conceived  it,  carries  with  it  a  marked 
shift  of  values.  But  just  this  change  of  empha^s  itself 
involves  a  difficulty,  for  the  very  nobility  of  Helena's 
nature  renders  the  story  which  Shakespeare  retained  less 
plausible.  It  is  this  discord,  v;hich  even  Shakespeare's  art 
has  not  wholly  resolved,  that  accounts,  in  large  measure,  for 
a  certain  distaste  which  the  play  inspires  in  the  minds  of 
most  of  its  readers,  and  this  effect  is  heightened  by  the 
particularly  unlovable  character  of  Bertram,  and  the  rather 


XIV 


3|ntro0uction 


hard  and  unsympathetic  portrayal  of  Parolles.  But  it 
was  on  the  indomitable  and  fearless  purity  of  Helena 
herself  that  Shakespeare's  interest  centered ;  and  despite 
the  dissonance  referred  to,  it  is  the  character  of  Helena, 
as  set  oft  and  softened  by  the  grave  sweetness  and  dig- 
nity of  the  Countess  and  the  King,  which  gives  to  the  play 
its  permanent  appeal. 


au'is  mtii  mt  €nm  mtn 


,k^ 


[DRAMATIS  PERSON/E 


King  op  France. 

Duke  of  Florence. 

Bertram,  Count  of  Rousillon. 

L.u^eu,  an  old  lord 

Parolles,  a  follower  of  Bertram. 

Two  French  Lords. 

T  '       /-i  !"  servants  to  the  Countess  of  Rousilloiu 

Lav  ACHE,  a  Clown,  J 

A  Page. 

Countess  of  Rousillon,  mother  to  Bertram. 
Helena,  a  gentlewoman  protected  by  the  Countess. 
An  old  "Widow  of  Florence. 
Di-VNA,  dauQihtor  to  the  Widow. 

"VlOLEN^T'V    1 

,,       '    '  '  >  neighbors  and  friends  to  the  Widow. 
Mariana,  j 

Lords,  Officers,  Soldiers,  etc.,  French  and  Florentine. 

Scene:  Rousillon;  Paris;  Florence;  Marseilles.] 


Qim  mtii  tm  dftttiis  mm 

# 

ACT  FIRST 

SCBNB  1 

[Rousillon.     The  Count* 8  palace.] 

Enter  young  Bertram,  Count  of  Rousillon,  his  mother 
[the  Countess  of  Rou^llon],  Helena,  and  Lord  Lafeu, 
all  in  black. 

Count.    In  delivering  my  son  from  me,  I  bury  a 
second  husband. 

Ber.    And    I    in    going,    madam,    weep    o'er    my 
father's  death  anew ;  but  I  must  attend  his 
Majesty's  command,  to  whom  I  am  now  in       5 
ward,  evermore  in  subjection. 

Laf.  You  shall  find  of  the  King  a  husband, 
madam;  you,  sir,  a  father.  He  that  so  gen- 
erally is  at  all  times  good  must  of  necessity 
hold  his  virtue  to  you,  whose  worthiness  would  10 
stir  it  up  where  it  wanted  rather  than  lack  it 
where  there  is  such  abundance. 
3 


4  ail'0  OTell  tljat  Cntig  WitW      Acti 

Count.    What    hope    is    there    of    his    Majesty's 
amendment  ? 

Zqf.    He  hath  abandon'd  his  physicians,  madam,      15 
under  whose  practices  he  hath  persecuted  time 
with  hope,  and  finds  no  other  advantage  in  the 
process  but  only  the  losing  of  hope  by  time. 

Count.  This  young    gentlewoman    had    a    father, 

—  O,  that  "had"  !    how  sad  a  passage  'tis!      20 

—  whose  skill  was  almost  as  great  as  his 
honesty;  had  it  stretch'd  so  far,  would  have 
made  nature  immortal,  and  death  should  have 
play  for  lack  of  work.  Would,  for  the  King's 
sake,  he  were  living  !  I  think  it  wor.\l  be  the  25 
death  of  the  King's  disease. 

Laf.    How    call'd    you    the    man    you    speak   of, 
madam  ? 

Count.      He  was   famous,   sir,   in   his   profession, 

and  it  was  his  great  right  to  be  so,  —  Gerard  de     30 
Narbon. 

Laf.   He     was     excellent     indeed,    madam.     The 
King  very  lately  spoke  of  him  admiringly  and 
mourningly.     He  was  skilful  enough  to  have 
liv'd  still,  if  knowledge  could  be  set  up  against     35 
mortality. 

Ber.  What  is    it,  my  good    lord,  the    King  lan- 
guishes of.* 

Laf.   A  fistula,  my  lord. 

Ber.  I  heard  not  of  it  before.  40 


sc.  I       ail*0  mtll  ttot  €nr>$  mtil  5 

Laf.  I  would  it  were  not  notorious.  Was  this 
gentlewoman  the  daughter  of  Gerard  de 
Narbon  ? 

Count.   His  sole  child,  my  lord,  and  bequeathed 

to  my  overlooking.  I  have  those  hopes  of  45 
her  good  that  her  education  promises.  Her 
dispositions  she  inherits,  which  makes  fair 
gifts  fairer ;  for  where  an  unclean  mind  carries 
virtuous  qualities,  there  commendations  go  with 
pity :  they  are  virtues  and  traitors  too.  In  50 
her  they  are  the  better  for  their  simpleness  :  she 
derives  her  honesty  and  achieves  her  goodness. 

Laf.  Your  commendations,  madam,  get  from  her 
tears. 

Count.  'Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  sea-  55 
son  her  praise  in.  The  remembrance  of  her 
father  never  approaches  her  heart  but  the 
tyranny  of  her  sorrows  takes  all  livelihood 
from  her  cheek.  No  more  of  this,  Helena ; 
go  to,  no  more,  lest  it  be  rather  thought  you  60 
affect  a  sorrow  than  to  have  — 

Hel.  I  do  affect  a  sorrow  indeed,  but  I  have  it 
too. 

Laf.   Moderate   lamentation   is    the  right  of   the 

dead,  excessive  grief  the  enemy  to  the  living.     66 

Count.  If  the  living  be  enemy  to  the  grief, 
the  excess  makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Ber.   Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 


6  ail*0  Well  tl^at  CnDs;  Witli     Acti 

Laf.   How  understand  we  that  ? 

Count,   Be    thou    blest,   Bertram,    and    succeed    thy 
father  70 

In  manners,  as  in  shape  !     Thy  blood  and  virtue 
Contend  for  empire  in  thee,  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birthright !     Love  all,  trust  a  few. 
Do  wrong  to  none.     Be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power  than  use,  and  keep  thy  friend  75 
Under    thy    own    life's    key.      Be    check'd    for 

silence, 
But  never  tax'd  for  speech.     What  Heaven  more 

will, 
That   thee   may   furnish   and   my  prayers   pluck 

down. 
Fall  on  thy  head  !    Farewell !    My  lord, 
'Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier ;   good  my  lord,         80 
Advise  him. 
Laf.  He  cannot  want  the  best 

That  shall  attend  his  love. 
Count.   Heaven  bless  him  !     Farewell,  Bertram. 

[ExU.] 
Ber.   [To  Helena.]     The  best  wishes  that  can  be 

forg'd  in  your  thoughts  be  servants  to  you  !     85 
Be  comfortable  to  my  mother,  your  mistress, 
and  make  much  of  her. 
Laf.   Farewell,  pretty  lady.     You  must  hold  the 
credit  of  your  father. 

[Exeunt  Bertram  and  Lafeu.] 


Sc.  I      airsf  WXtW  tljat  €nnsi  OTell  7 

Hel.   O,  were  that  all !     I  think  not  on  my  father, 

And    these    great    tears    grace   his    remembrance 

more  91 

Than  those  I  shed  for  him.     What  was  he  like  ? 
I  have  forgot  him.     My  imagination 
Carries  no  favour  in't  but  Bertram's. 
I  am  undone  !     There  is  no  living,  none,  96 

If  Bertram  be  away.     'Twere  all  one 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me. 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere.  100 

The  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself. 
The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion 
Must   die    for   love.     'Twas    pretty,    though    a 

plague, 
To  see  him  every  hour ;   to  sit  and  draw 
His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls,  105 
In  our  heart's  table ;   heart  too  capable 
Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favour. 
But  now  he's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
Must  sanctify  his  reliques.     Who  comes  here? 

Enter  Parolles. 

[Aside.]    One  that  goes  with  him.       I   love  him 
for  his  sake;  110 

And  yet  I  know  him  a  notorious  liar. 


8  air^  OTell  tljat  €nt$  mtll      Act  i 

Think  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward ; 
Yet  these  fix'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him, 
That  they  take  place,  when  virtue's  steely  bones 
Looks  bleak  i'  the  cold  wind.     Withal,  full  oft  we 
see  115 

Cold  wisdom  waiting  on  superfluous  folly. 

Par.    Save  you,  fair  queen  ! 

Hel.   And  you,  monarch  ! 

Par.    No. 

Hel.   And  no.  120 

Par.    Are  you  meditating  on  virginity  ? 

Hel.  Ay.  You  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in  you ; 
let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Man  is  enemy  to 
virginity ;  how^  may  we  barricado  it  against  him  ? 

Par.   Keep  him  out.  125 

Hel.  But  he  assails ;  and  our  virginity,  though 
valiant,  in  the  defence  yet  is  weak.  Unfold 
to  us  some  warlike  resistance. 

Par.   There  is  none.     Man,  sitting  down    before 

you,  will  undermine  you  and  blow  you  up.      130 

Hel.  Bless  our  poor  virginity  from  underminers 
and  blowers  up  !  Is  there  no  military  policy, 
how  virgins  might  blow  up  men  ? 

Par.    Virginity     being     blown     down,    man    will 

quicklier    be  blown    up.     Marry,   in   blowing    135 
him  down   again,  with  the  breach  yourselves 
made,  you  lose  your  city.     It  is  not  politic 
in  the  commonwealth  of  nature  to  preserve 


Sc.  I      airg  Witll  tt)at  <II;nDs  Well  9 

virginity.  Loss  of  virginity  is  rational  in- 
crease, and  there  was  never  virgin  got  till  vir-  140 
ginity  was  first  lost.  That  you  were  made 
of  is  metal  to  make  virgins.  Virginity  by 
being  once  lost  may  be  ten  times  found;  by 
being  ever  kept,  it  is  ever  lost.  'Tis  too  cold  a 
companion  ;   away  with't ! 

Hel.   I  will  stand  for't  a  little,   though  therefore   145 
I  die  a  virgin. 

Par.  There's  little  can  be  said  in't;  'tis  against 
the  rule  of  nature.  To  speak  on  the  part 
of  virginity  is  to  accuse  your  mothers, 
which  is  most  infallible  disobedience.  He  150 
that  hangs  himself  is  a  virgin.  Virginity 
murders  itself,  and  should  be  buried  in  high- 
ways out  of  all  sanctified  limit,  as  a  desperate 
ofiFendress  against  nature.  Virginity  breeds 
mites,  much  like  a  cheese;  consumes  itself  to  155 
the  very  paring,  and  so  dies  with  feeding  his 
own  stomach.  Besides,  virginity  is  peevish, 
proud,  idle,  made  of  self-love,  which  is  the 
most  inhibited  sin  in  the  canon.  Keep  it 
not;  you  cannot  choose  but  lose  by't.  Out 
with't !  Within  ten  year  it  will  make  itself  160 
two,  which  is  a  goodly  increase,  and  the  prin- 
cipal itself  not  much  the  worse.  Away  with't ! 

Hel.    How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her  own 
liking  ? 


lo  airs?  Witll  t^at  (BnDfif  Well      Acti 

Par.    Let  me  see.     Marry,  ill,  to  like  him   that    165 
ne'er   it  likes.       'Tis  a   commodity  will   lose 
the  gloss  with  lying ;   the  longer  kept,  the  less 
worth.   Off  with't  while  'tis  vendible;  answer 
the  time  of  request.     Virginity,  like  an  old 
courtier,  wears  her  cap  out  of  fashion ;   richly    170 
suited,     but      unsuitable,  —  just      like     the 
brooch  and  the  tooth-pick,  which  wear  not 
now.     Your  date  is  better  in  your  pie  and  your 
porridge  than  in  your  cheek ;  and  your  virgin- 
ity, your  old  virginity,  is  like  one  of  our  French 
wither'd    pears,    it   looks    ill,    it    eats    drily;   175 
marry,  'tis  a  wither'd  pear;    it  was  formerly 
better ;  marry,  yet  'tis  a  wither'd  pear.      Will 
you  anything  with  it  ? 

Hel.    Not  my  virginity  yet  .  .  . 

There  shall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves, 
A  mother  and  a  mistress  and  a  friend,  181 

A  phoenix,  captain,  and  an  enemy, 
A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  dear; 
His  humble  ambition,  proud  humility,  185 

His  jarring  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet, 
His  faith,  his  sweet  disaster ;   with  a  world 
Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptions  Christendoms, 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips.     Now  shall  he  — 
I  know  not  what  he  shall.  God  send  him  well !  190 
The  court's  a  learning  place,  and  he  is  one  — 


Sc.  I      M'&  Wtll  ttiat  €niMS  Witli  ii 

Par.  What  one,  i'  faith? 

Hel.    That  I  wish  well.     'Tis  pity  — 

Par.    What's  pity  ? 

Hel.    That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in't,  195 

Which  might  be  felt ;  that  we,  the  poorer  bom, 
Whose  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wishes. 
Might  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends, 
And    show    what    we    alone    must    think,    which 

never 
Returns  us  thanks.  200 

Enter  Page. 

Page.    Monsieur  Parolles,  my  lord  calls  for  you. 

[Exit] 
Par.   Little  Helen,  farewell.     If   I  can  remember 

thee,  I  will  think  of  thee  at  court. 
Hel.   Monsieur  Parolles,  you  were  born   under  a 

charitable  star.  205 

Par.   Under  Mars,  I. 
Hel.    I  especially  think,  under  Mars. 
Par.   Why  under  Mars  ? 
Hel.   The  wars  hath  so  kept  you  under  that  you 

must  needs  be  born  under  Mars.  210 

Par.   When  he  was  predominant. 
Hel.    When  he  was  retrograde,  I  think,  rather. 
Par.   Why  think  you  so  ? 

Hel.   You  go  so  much  backward  when  you  fight. 
Par.    That's  for  advantage.  215 


12  ail'fi?  Well  ttjat  (BnliS  Well      Act  i 

Hel.  So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes 
the  safety.  But  the  composition  that  your 
valour  and  fear  makes  in  you  is  a  virtue  of  a 
good  wing,  and  I  like  the  wear  well. 

Par.  I  am  so  full  of  businesses,  I  cannot  answer  220 
thee  acutely.  I  will  return  perfect  courtier ; 
in  the  which,  my  instruction  shall  serve  to  nat- 
uralize thee,  so  thou  wilt  be  capable  of  a  court- 
ier's counsel  and  understand  what  advice  shall 
thrust  upon  thee ;  else  thou  diest  in  thine  un-  225 
thankfulness,  and  thine  ignorance  makes  thee 
away.  Farewell !  ^\^len  thou  hast  leisure, 
say  thy  prayers  ;  when  thou  hast  none,  remem- 
ber thy  friends.  Get  thee  a  good  husband, 
and  use  him  as  he  uses  thee.     So,  farewell.    230 

[Exit.] 

Hel.    Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie. 

Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven.     The  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope,  only  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 
What    power    is    it   which    mounts    my   love    so 
high,  235 

That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye  ? 
The  mightiest  space  in  fortune  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes  and  kiss  like  native  things. 
Impossible  be  strange  attempts  to  those 
That  weigh  their  pains  in  sense  and  do  suppose 
\Miat  hath  been  cannot  be.     Who  ever  strove    211 


Sc.  11      ail'fif  md\  ttjac  Cnos?  OTrll  13 

To  show  her  merit,  that  did  miss  her  love  ? 

The  King's  disease  —  my  project  may  deceive  me, 

But  my  intents  are  fix'd  and  will  not  leave  me. 

Exit, 

SCENE    II 

[Paris.     The  King's  palace.] 

Flourish  of  cornets.     Enter  the  King  of  France,  with 
letters,  [Lofds]  and  divers  attendants. 

King.   The  Florentines  and  Senoys  are  by  the  ears. 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune,  and  continue 
A  braving  war. 

1.  Lord.  So  'tis  reported,  sir. 

King.   Nay,     'tis    most    credible.     We    here    receive 
it 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria,        5 
With  caution  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 
For  speedy  aid ;    wherein  our  dearest  friend 
Prejudicates  the  business,  and  would   seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

1.  Lord.  His  love  and  wisdom, 

Approv'd  so  to  your  Majesty,  may  plead  10 

For  amplest  credence. 

King.  He  hath  arm*d  our  answer. 

And  Florence  is  denied  before  he  comes. 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen  that  mean  to  see 


24  aU'sf  Well  t^iat  C'nti0  Wizll     Act  i 

The  Tuscan  service,  freely  have  they  leave 

To  stand  on  either  part. 
S.  Lord.  It  well  may  serve      15 

A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 

For  breathing  and  exploit. 
King.  What's  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

1.  Lord.     It     is     the    Count    Rousillon,     my    good 
lord. 
Young  Bertram. 

King.  Youth,  thou  bear'st  thy  father's  face. 

Frank  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste,       20 
Hath   well   compos'd   thee.     Thy   father's   moral 

parts 
Mayst  thou  inherit  too  !    Welcome  to  Paris. 

Ber.    My  thanks  and  duty  are  your  Majesty's. 

King.    I  would  I  had  that  corporal  soundness  now. 

As  when  thy  father  and  myself  in  friendship         25 
First  tried  our  soldiership  !     He  did  look  far 
Into  the  service  of  the  time,  and  was 
Discipled  of  the  bravest.     He  lasted  long; 
But  on  us  both  did  haggish  age  steal  on 
And  wore  us  out  of  act.     It  much  repairs  me  30 
To  talk  of  your  good  father.     In  his  youth 
He  had  the  wit  which  I  can  well  observe 
To-day  in  our  young  lords;   but  they  may  jest 
Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted 


Sc.  II     311*0  mdl  tfjat  (lBnti0  Mell  15 

Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour  35 

So  like  a  courtier.     Contempt  nor  bitterness 
Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness ;   if  they  were, 
His  equal  had  awak'd  them,  and  his  honour, 
Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when 
Exception  bid  him  speak,  and  at  this  time        40 
His  tongue  obey'd  his  hand.     Who  were  below 

him 
He  us'd  as  creatures  of  another  place. 
And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks, 
Making  them  proud  of  his  humility, 
In  their  poor  praise  he  humbled.     Such  a  man  45 
Might  be  a  copy  to  these  younger  times ; 
Which,   followed   well,   would   demonstrate  them 

now 
But  goers  backward. 
Ber.  His  good  remembrance,  sir. 

Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts  than  on  his  tomb. 
So  in  approof  lives  not  his  epitaph  50 

As  in  your  royal  speech. 
King.   Would    I   were  with   him !    He  would   always 

say  — 
Methinks  I  hear  him  now  !     His  plausive  words 
He  scatter'd  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them. 
To    grow    there    and    to    bear,  —  "Let    me    not 

live,"  55 

Thus  his  good  melancholy  oft  began. 
On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime. 


i6         Sim  OTell  t^at  €m&  mtW     Act  i 

\Mien  it  was   out,  —  "Let  me  not  live,"   quoth 

he, 
"After  my  flame  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  snuff 
Of  younger  spirits,  whose  apprehensive  senses 
All    but   new   things   disdain ;    whose  judgements 
are  Gi 

Mere    fathers    of    their    garments ;     whose    con- 
stancies 
Expire  before  their  fashions."     This  he  wish'd  ; 
I  after  him  do  after  him  wish  too. 
Since  I  nor  wax  nor  honey  can  bring  home,        65 
I  quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive. 
To  give  some  labourers  room. 
S.  Lord.  You're  loved,  sir ; 

They    that    least    lend    it    you    shall    lack    you 
first. 
King.    I    fill    a    place,     I    know't.     How    long    is't, 
Count, 
Since  the  physician  at  your  father's  died  ?  70 

He  was  much  fam'd. 
Ber.  Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 

King.    If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet. 

Lend  me  an  arm ;    the  rest  have  worn  me  out 
With  several  applications.     Nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.     Welcome,  Count ;    75 
My  son's  no  dearer. 
Ber.  Thank  your  Majesty. 

Exeunt.     Flourish. 


Sc.  Hi   ailii  OTell  tliat  C'UO0  WitW  17 

SCENE    III 

[Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace.] 
Enter  Countess,  Steward,  and  Clown. 

Count.    I  will  now  hear.     What  say  you   of   this 
gentlewoman  ? 

Stew.   Madam,  the  care  I  have  had  to  even  your  con- 
tent, I  wish  might  be  found  in  the  calendar  of 
my  past  endeavours ;    for  then  we  wound  our       5 
modesty  and  make  foul  the  clearness  of  our 
deservings,  when  of  ourselves  we  publish  them. 

Count.  ^Vhat  does  this  knave  here  ?  Get  you  gone, 
sirrah.  The  complaints  I  have  heard  of  you 
I  do  not  all  believe.  'Tis  my  slowness  that  10 
I  do  not,  for  I  know  you  lack  not  folly  to  com- 
mit them,  and  have  ability  enough  to  make 
such  knaveries  yours. 

Clo.   'Tis    not    unknown    to  you,  madam,   I  am 

a  poor  fellow.  15 

Count.    Well,  sir. 

Clo.  No,  madam,  'tis  not  so  well  that  I  am  poor, 
though  many  of  the  rich  are  damn'd  ;  but,  if  I 
may  have  your  ladyship's  good  will  to  go  to  the 
world,  Isbel  the  woman  and  I  will  do  as  we     20 
may. 

Count.    Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  beggar  ? 

Clo.   I  do  beg  your  good  will  in  this  case. 


i8  au^0  M^ll  ttiat  enti0  «rU      Act  i 

Count.   In  what  case  ? 

Clo.    In    Isbel's    case    and    mine   own.      Service     25 
is  no  heritage ;  and  I  think  I  shall  never  have 
the  blessing  of  God  till  I  have  issue  o'  my 
body ;    for  they  say  barnes  are  blessings. 

Count.   Tell  me  thy  reason  why  thou  wilt  marry. 

Clo.   My  poor   body,  madam,  requires  it.      I  am     30 
driven  on  by  the  flesh;    and  he  must  needs 
go  that  the  devil  drives. 

Count.    Is  this  all  your  worship's  reason  ? 

Clo.   Faith,  madam,  I   have   other   holy  reasons, 

such  as  they  are.  35 

Count.    May  the  world  know  them  ? 

Clo.  I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature, 
as  you  and  all  flesh  and  blood  are;  and, 
indeed,  I  do  marry  that  I  may  repent. 

Count.   Thy    marriage,   sooner    than    thy   wicked-     40 
ness. 

Clo.  I  am  out  o'  friends,  madam;  and  I  hope 
to  have  friends  for  my  wife's  sake. 

Count.   Such  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 

Clo.  Y'  are  shallow,  madam,  in  great  friends ;  for  45 
the  knaves  come  to  do  that  for  me  which  I 
am  aweary  of.  He  that  ears  my  land  spares 
my  team  and  gives  me  leave  to  in  the  crop.  If 
I  be  his  cuckold,  he's  my  drudge.  He  that 
comforts  my  wife  is  the  cherisher  of  my  flesh  50 
and  blood;  he  that   cherishes  my  flesh  and 


sc.  Ill    air0  mtii  t\)Rt  cBnrjs?  otipu        iq 

blood  loves  my  flesh  and  blood ;  he  that  loves 
my  flesh  and  blood  is  my  friend  ;  ergo,  he  that 
kisses  my  wife  is  my  friend.  If  men  could  be 
contented  to  be  what  they  are,  there  were  no 
fear  in  marriage;  for  young  Charbon  the  55 
puritan  and  old  Poysam  the  papist,  howsom- 
e'er  their  hearts  are  sever'd  in  religion,  their 
heads  are  both  one ;  they  may  joul  horns  to- 
gether, like  any  deer  i'  the  herd. 

Count.   Wilt    thou    ever    be  a  foul-mouth'd    and     60 
calumnious  knave  ? 

Clo.   A   prophet    I,    madam ;     and    I    speak    the 
truth  the  next  way : 

"  For  I  the  ballad  will  repeat. 

Which  men  full  true  shall  find :  65 

Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny. 
Your  cuckoo  sings  by  kind." 

Count.   Get  you  gone,  sir ;  I'll  talk  with  you  more 

anon. 
Stew.   May  it  please    you,   madam,  that   he  bid     70 

Helen  come  to  you.     Of  her  I  am  to  speak. 
Count.   Sirrah,     tell    my    gentlewoman    I    would 

speak  with  her;   Helen,  I  mean. 
Clo.  [Sings.] 

"Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she. 

Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy  ?  75 


30  aiVflf  Well  ttjat  enUflf  Witll     Act  i 

Fond  done,  done  fond,  .  .  . 

Was  this  King  Priam's  joy  ? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood. 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood. 

And  gave  this  sentence  then ;  80 

Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good. 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good. 

There's  yet  one  good  in  ten.'* 

Count.    What,  one  good  in  ten  ?     You  corrupt  the 

song,   sirrah.  85 

Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten,  madam;  which 
is  a  purifying  o'  the  song.  Would  God  would 
serve  the  world  so  all  the  year  !  We'd  find 
no  fault  with  the  tithe-woman,  if  I  were  the 
parson.  One  in  ten,  quoth  'a  !  An  we  might  90 
have  a  good  woman  born  but  o'er  every 
blazing  star,  or  at  an  earthquake,  'twould 
mend  the  lottery  well ;  a  man  may  draw  his 
heart  out,  ere  'a  pluck  one. 

Count.   You'll  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I  com- 
mand you.  95 

Clo.  That  man  should  be  at  woman's  command, 
and  yet  no  hurt  done  !  Though  honesty  be  no 
puritan,  yet  it  will  do  no  hurt ;  it  will  wear 
the  surplice  of  humility  over  the  black  gown 
of  a  big  heart.  I  am  going,  forsooth.  The  100 
business  is  for  Helen  to  come  hither.  Exit. 


sc.  Ill   aii'0  mtii  tiiat  enDfl?  mtw       21 

Count.   Well,  now. 

Stew.   I   know,    madam,   you    love   your   gentle- 
woman entirely. 

Count.   Faith,  I  do.     Her  father  bequeath'd  her  to   105 
me  ;  and  she  herself,  without  other  advantage, 
may  lawfully  make  title  to  as  much  love  as  she 
finds.     There  is  more  owing  her  than  is  paid, 
and  more  shall  be  paid  her  than  she'll  demand. 

Stew.   Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  her  than    110 
I  think  she  wish'd  me.     Alone  she  was,  and 
did  communicate  to  herself  her  own  words  to 
her  own  ears  ;  she  thought,  I  dare  vow  for  her, 
they   touch'd   not  any   stranger  sense.     Her 
matter   was,   she   lov'd   your   son.     Fortune,    115 
she  said,  was  no  goddess,  that  had  put  such 
diflference  betwixt  their  two  estates  ;   Love  no 
god,  that  would  not   extend  his  might,  only 
where  qualities  were  level ;    [Diana  no]  queen 
of  virgins,  that  would  suffer  her  poor  knight   120 
surpris'd,  without  rescue  in  the  first  assault 
or  ransom  afterward.  This  she  deliver'd  in  the 
most  bitter  touch  of  sorrow  that  e'er  I  heard 
virgin  exclaim  in  ;  which  I  held  my  dut}^  speed- 
ily to  acquaint  you  withal ;   sithence,  in  the 
loss  that  may  happen,  it  concerns  you  some-    125 
thing  to  know  it. 

Count.   You  have  discharg'd  this  honestly  ;  keep  it 
to  yourself.     Many  likelihoods  inform'd  me  of 


33  ail'0  mdl  t\)ut  €nt}&  OTell      Acti 

this  before,  which  hung  so  tottering  in  the 
balance  that  I  could  neither  believe  nor  mis-    130 
doubt.    Pray  you,  leave  me.    Stall  this  in  your 
bosom  ;  and  I  thank  you  for  your  honest  care. 
I  will  speak  with  you  further  anon. 

Exit  Steward. 

Enter  Helena. 

Even  so  it  was  with  me  when  I  was  young. 

If  ever  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours.     This 
thorn  135 

Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong  ; 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  is  born. 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 
Where  love's  strong  passion  is  impressed  in  youth. 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone,  140 

Such  were  our  faults,  or  then  we  thought  them 

none. 
Her  eye  is  sick  on't ;   I  observe  her  now. 
Hel.   What  is  your  pleasure,  madam  ? 
Count.  You  know,  Helen, 

I  am  a  mother  to  you. 
Hel.   Mine  honourable  mistress. 

Count.  Nay,  a  mother.      145 

Why  not  a  mother  ?  "When  I  said  "a  mother," 
Methought    you    saw    a    serpent.         ^Vhat's    in 

"mother," 
That  you  start  at  it .'     I  say,  I  am  your  mother  ; 


Sc.  Ill   airsf  Mell  ttjat  (BnDs;  Witli  23 

And  put  3^ou  in  the  catalogue  of  those 

That  vvere  enwombed  mine.     'Tis  often  seen        150 

Adoption  strives  with  nature,  and  choice  breeds 

A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds. 

You  ne'er  oppress'd  me  with  a  mother's  groan. 

Yet  I  express  to  you  a  mother's  care. 

God's  mercy,  maiden  !  does  it  curd  thy  blood     155 

To  say  I  am  thy  mother  ?     "What's  the  matter, 

That  this  distempered  messenger  of  wet, 

The  many-colour'd  Iris,  rounds  thine  eye  ? 

Why  ?  That  you  are  my  daughter  ? 

Eel.  That  I  am  not. 

Count.    I  say,  I  am  your  mother. 

Hel.  Pardon,  madam ; 

The  Count  Rousillon  cannot  be  my  brother.         161 
I  am  from  humble,  he  from  honoured  name ; 
No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble. 
My  master,  my  dear  lord  he  is  ;  and  I 
His  servant  live,  and  will  his  vassal  die.  165 

He  must  not  be  my  brother. 

Count.  Nor  I  your  mother  ? 

Hel.  You  are  my  mother,  madam  ;  would  you  were,  — 
So  that  my  lord  your  son  were  not  my  brother,  — 
Indeed  my  mother  !  Or  were  you  both  our  mothers, 
I  care  no  more  for  than  I  do  for  heaven,  170 

So  I  were  not  his  sister.     Can  't  no  other. 
But,  I  your  daughter,  he  must  be  my  brother  ? 

Count.   Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter-in-law. 


34  ail*0  WitW  ttiat  enUflf  Mell     Act  i 

God  shield  you  mean  it  not !  daughter  and  mother 

So  strive  upon  your  pulse.     What,  pale  again  ?  175 

My  fear  hath  catch'd  your  fondness.     Now  I  see 

The  mystery  of  your  loneliness,  and  find 

Your  salt  tears'  head.     Now  to  all  sense  'tis  gross 

You  love  my  son.     Invention  is  asham'd, 

Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion,  180 

To  say  thou  dost  not :   therefore  tell  me  true ; 

But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so ;   for,  look,  thy  cheeks 

Confess  it,  the  one  to  the  other  ;  and  thine  eyes 

See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  thy  behaviours 

That  in  their  kind  they  speak  it.     Only  sin         186 

And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue, 

That  truth  should  be  suspected.     Speak,  is't  so  ? 

If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clew ; 

If  it  be  not,  forswear't.     Howe'er,  I  charge  thee. 

As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail,         190 

To  tell  me  truly. 

Hel.  Good  madam,  pardon  me  ! 

Count.   Do  you  love  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Your  pardon,  noble  mistress  ! 

Count.   Love  you  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Do  not  you  love  him,  madam  ? 

Count.   Go  not  about ;   my  love  hath  in't  a  bond, 

Whereof    the    world    takes    note.     Come,    come, 
disclose  195 

The  state  of  your  affection  ;  for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  full  appeach'd. 


sc.  Ill  airs;  mtw  t^at  c^tisf  witii       35 

Hel.  Then,  I  confess, 

Here  on  my  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you, 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  heaven, 
I  love  your  son.  200 

My    friends    were    poor,    but   honest ;    so's   my 

love. 
Be  not  offended  ;  for  it  hurts  not  him 
That  he  is  lov'd  of  me.     I  follow  him  not 
By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit ; 
Nor  would  I  have  him  till  I  do  deserve  him  ;       205 
Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 
I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope ; 
Yet  in  this  captious  and  intenible  sieve 
I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love 
And  lack  not  to  lose  still.     Thus,  Indian-like,     210 
Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 
The  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper. 
But  knows  of  him  no  more.     My  dearest  madam, 
Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love 
For  loving  where  you  do  ;  but  if  yourself,  215 

Whose  aged  honour  cites  a  virtuous  youth, 
Did  ever  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking 
Wish  chastely  and  love  dearly,  that  your  Dian 
Was  both  herself  and  love,  O,  then,  give  pity 
To  her,  whose  state  is  such  that  cannot  choose     220 
But  lend  and  give  where  she  is  sure  to  lose  ; 
That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies^ 
But  riddle-like  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies  ! 


36  aiPfif  Witll  t\)nt  CBnUfi?  Witll      Act  i 

Count.   Had  you  not  lately  an  intent,  —  speak  truly,  — 
To  go  to  Paris  ? 

Hel.  Madam,  I  had. 

Count.  WTierefore  ?    Tell  true. 

Hel.    I  will  tell  truth  ;  by  grace  itself  I  swear.  226 

You  know  my  father  left  me  some  prescriptions 
Of  rare  and  prov'd  effects,  such  as  his  reading 
And  manifest  experience  had  collected 
For  general  sovereignty  ;  and  that  he  will'd  me 
In  heedfull'st  reservation  to  bestow  them,         231 
As  notes,  whose  faculties  inclusive  were 
More  than  they  were  in  note.     Amongst  the  rest, 
There  is  a  remedy  approv'd  set  down. 
To  cure  the  desperate  languishings  whereof        235 
The  King  is  render'd  lost. 

Count.  This  was  your  motive 

For  Paris,  was  it  ?     Speak. 

Hel.   My  lord  your  son  made  me  to  think  of  this, 
Else  Paris  and  the  medicine  and  the  King 
Had  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts         240 
Haply  been  absent  then. 

Count.  But  think  you,  Helen, 

If  you  should  tender  your  supposed  aid. 
He  would  receive  it  ?    He  and  his  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind  ;  he,  that  they  cannot  help  him, 
They,   that  they   cannot  help.     How  shall   they 
credit  245 

A  poor  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools. 


Sc.  Ill    airsf  OTell  tljat  enos?  Witll         27 

Embowell'd  of  their  doctrine,  have  left  oflF 
The  danger  to  itself  ? 

Hel.  There's  something  in't, 

More  than  my  father's  skill,  which  was  the  greatest 
Of  his  profession,  that  his  good  receipt  250 

Shall  for  my  legacy  be  sanctified 
By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven ;   and,  would  your 

honour 
But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I'd  venture 
The  well-lost  life  of  mine  on  his  Grace's  cure 
By  such  a  day  and  hour. 

Count  Dost  thou  believe't? 

Hel.   Ay,  madam,  knowingly.  256 

Count.   Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  have  my  leave  and  love. 
Means  and  attendants,  and  my  loving  greetings 
To  those  of  mine  in  court.     I'll  stay  at  home 
And  pray  God's  blessing  into  thy  attempt.         260 
Be  gone  to-morrow  ;  and  be  sure  of  this, 
What  I  can  help  thee  to  thou  shalt  not  miss. 

Exeunt. 


ACT  SECOND 

SCENE  I 

[Paris.     The  King's  palace.] 

Flourish  of  cornets.  Enter  the  King,  with  divers  young 
Lords  taking  leave  for  the  Florentine  war ;  Bertram 
and  Parolles. 

King.   Farewell,  young  lords  !  these  warlike  principles 
Do  not  throw  from  you  ;   and  you,  my  lords,  fare- 
well ! 
Share  the  advice  betwixt  you.     If  both  gain  all. 
The  gift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  receiv'd. 
And  is  enough  for  both. 

1.  Lord.  'Tis  our  hope,  sir,        5 

After  well  ent'red  soldiers,  to  return 
And  find  your  Grace  in  health. 

King.   No,  no,  it  cannot  be  ;   and  j'et  my  heart 
Will  not  confess  he  owes  the  malady 
That  doth  my  life  besiege.  Farewell,  young  lords  !  10 
Whether  I  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenclimen.     Let  higher  Italy,  — 
Those  bated  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy,  —  see  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honour,  but  to  wed  it.     When  15 

28 


Sc.  I      aU'0  «eU  ttiat  enU0  mtil         29 

The  bravest  questant  shrinks,  find  what  you  seek. 
That  fame  may  cry  you  loud.     I  say,  farewell. 

S.  Lord.   Health,  at  your  bidding,  serve  your  Majesty  ! 

King.   Those  girls  of  Italy,  take  heed  of  them. 

They  say  our  French  lack  language  to  deny  20 

If  they  demand.     Beware  of  being  captives 
Before  you  serve. 

Both.  Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 

King.   Farewell.  —  Come  hither  to  me. 

[Exit,  attended.] 

J.  Lord.   O  my  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay  behind 
us ! 

Par.   *Tis  not  his  fault,  the  spark. 

2.  Lord.  0,'tis  brave  wars  ! 

Par.   Most  admirable  !     I  have  seen  those  wars.       26 

Ber.    I  am  commanded  here,  and  kept  a  coil  with 
*'Too  young"  and  "the  next  year"  and  "'tis 
too  early." 

Par.   An  thy  mind  stand  to't,  boy,  steal  away  bravely. 

Ber.    I  shall  stay  here  the  forehorse  to  a  smock,  30 

Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry. 
Till  honour  be  bought  up  and  no  sword  worn 
But  one  to  dance  with  !  By  heaven,  I'll  steal  away. 

1.  Lord.   There's  honour  in  the  theft. 

Par.  Commit  it,  Count. 

2.  Lord.    1  am  your  accessary  ;  and  so  farewell.  35 
Ber.    I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  is  a  tortur'd 

body. 


30         aU'0  WitW  ttiat  (EnUflf  mtll    Act  II 

1.  Lord.   Farewell,  captain. 

2.  Lord.   Sweet  Monsieur  Parolles  ! 

Par.  Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  are  kin.  40 
Good  sparks  and  lustrous,  a  word,  good 
metals  :  you  shall  find  in  the  regiment  of  the 
Spinii  one  Captain  Spurio,  with  his  cicatrice, 
an  emblem  of  war,  here  on  his  sinister  cheek,  — 
it  was  this  very  sword  entrench'd  it ;  —  say  to  45 
him,  I  live  ;  and  observe  his  reports  for  me. 

1.  Lord.   We  shall,  noble  captain. 

[Exeunt  Lords.] 

Par.   Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices  !     What  will 
ye  do  ? 

Ber.   Stay,  the  King  !  50 

[Re-enter  the  King.] 

Par.  [To  Ber.]  Use  a  more  spacious  ceremony  to 
the  noble  lords ;  you  have  restrain'd  your- 
self within  the  list  of  too  cold  an  adieu.  Be 
more  expressive  to  them  ;  for  they  wear  them- 
selves in  the  cap  of  the  time,  there  do  muster  55 
true  gait,  eat,  speak,  and  move  under  the 
influence  of  the  most  receiv'd  star ;  and 
though  the  devil  lead  the  measure,  such  are  to 
be  followed.  After  them,  and  take  a  more 
dilated  farewell. 

Ber.   And  I  will  do  so.  00 


Sc.  I       aiP0  WitW  tljat  <EnD0  mtll  31 

Par.   Worthy  fellows ;    and   like  to  prove  most 
sinewy  swordmen. 

Exeunt  [Bertram  and  Parolles]. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.   [Kneeling.]    Pardon,  my  lord,  for  me  and  for  my 
tidings. 

King.    I'll  fee  thee  to  stand  up. 

Laf.   Then  here's  a  man  stands,  that  has  brought  his 
pardon.  65 

I  would  you  had  kneel'd,  my  lord,  to  ask  me  mercy. 
And  that  at  my  bidding  you  could  so  stand  up. 

King.    I  would  I  had,  so  I  had  broke  thy  pate. 
And  ask'd  thee  mercy  for't. 

Laf.   Good  faith,  across  ;  but,  my  good  lord,  'tis  thus  : 
Will  you  be  cur'd  of  your  infirmity  ?  71 

King.   No. 

Laf.   O,  will  you  eat  no  grapes,  my  royal  fox  ? 
Yes,  but  you  will  my  noble  grapes,  an  if 
My  royal  fox  could  reach  them.     I  have  seen  a 
medicine  75 

That's  able  to  breathe  life  into  a  stone. 
Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  you  dance  canary 
With  spritely  fire  and  motion  ;  whose  simple  touch 
Is  powerful  to  araise  King  Pepin,  nay, 
To  give  great  Charlemain  a  pen  in's  hand  80 

And  write  to  her  a  love-line. 


33  3lVi  Mell  t^at  C'ltUsf  Mell    Act  ii 

King.  What  her  is  this  ?• 

iqf.    Why,  Doctor  She  !  My  lord,  there's  one  arriv'd. 
If  you  will  see  her.     Now,  by  my  faith  and  honour. 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thoughts 
In  this  my  light  deliverance,  I  have  spoke  85 

With  one  that,  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession. 
Wisdom,  and  constancy,  hath  amaz'd  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness.     Will  you  see 

her,  — 
For  that  is  her  demand,  —  and  know  her  business  ? 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  me. 

King.  Now,  good  Lafeu, 

Bring  in  the  admiration,  that  we  with  thee  91 

May  spend  our  wonder  too,  or  take  oflF  thine 
By  wondering  how  thou  took'st  it. 

Laf.  Nay,  I'll  fit  you. 

And  not  be  all  day  neither.  [Exit.] 

King.   Thus  he  his  special  nothing  ever  prologues.     95 

[Re-enter  Lafeu.] 

Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways. 

Enter  Helena. 

King.  This  haste  hath  wings  indeed. 

Laf.   Nay,  come  your  ways. 

This  is  his  Majesty  ;  say  your  mind  to  him. 

A  traitor  you  do  look  like,  but  such  traitors 


Sc.  I     aU'0  Witll  t^at  enUflf  Witii  33 

His  Majesty  seldom  fears.     I  am  Cressid's  uncle, 
That  dare  leave  two  together  ;  fare  you  well.     101 

Exit. 

King.   Now,  fair  one,  does  your  business  follow  us  ? 

Hel.   Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Gerard  de  Narbon  was  my  father ; 
In  what  he  did  profess,  well  found. 

King.  I  knew  him. 

Hel.   The    rather   will    I    spare    my    praises    towards 
him ;  106 

Knowing  him  is  enough.     On's  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  gave  me  ;  chiefly  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practice. 
And  of  his  old  experience  the  only  darling,  110 

He  bade  me  store  up,  as  a  triple  eye. 
Safer  than  mine  own  two,  more  dear.     I  have  so  ; 
And,  hearing  your  high  Majesty  is  touch'd 
With  that  malignant  cause  wherein  the  honour 
Of  my  dear  father's  gift  stands  chief  in  power,  115 
I  come  to  tender  it  and  my  appliance 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 

King.  We  thank  you,  maiden  ; 

But  may  not  be  so  credulous  of  cure, 
"WTien  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us,  and 
The  congregated  college  have  concluded  120 

That  labouring  art  can  never  ransom  Nature 
From  her  inaidable  estate ;    I  say  we  must  not 
So  stain  our  judgement  or  corrupt  our  hope, 


34  aU'0  OTiell  ttiat  (EnUfif  Mell     Act  ii 

To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 

To  empirics,  or  to  dissever  so  125 

Our  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 

A  senseless  help  when  help  past  sense  we  deem. 

Hel.   My  duty  then  shall  pay  me  for  my  pains. 
I  will  no  more  enforce  mine  office  on  you  ; 
Humbly  entreating  from  your  royal  thoughts     130 
A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  again. 

King.    I  cannot  give  thee  less,  to  be  call'd  grateful. 
Thou  thought'st  to  help  me,  and  such  thanks  I 

give 
As  one  near  death  to  those  that  wish  him  Hve ; 
But  what  at  full  I  know  thou  know'st  no  part,  135 
I  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art. 

Hel.   What  I  can  do  can  do  no  hurt  to  try. 
Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy. 
He  that  of  greatest  works  is  finisher 
Oft  does  them  by  the  weakest  minister  :  140 

So  holy  writ  in  babes  hath  judgement  shown, 
When  judges  have  been  babes  ;   great  floods  have 

flown 
From  simple  sources,  and  great  seas  have  dried 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. 
Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there  145 

Where  most  it  promises  ;  and  oft  it  hits 
Where  hope  is  coldest  and  despair  most  fits. 

King.    I   must   not   hear   thee ;    fare  thee  well,  kind 
maid ! 


sc.  I     airsf  witw  t\)u  €nD0  mtii       35 

Thy  pains  not  us'd  must  by  thyself  be  paid. 
Proffers  not  took  reap  thanks  for  their  reward.  150 

Hel.    Inspired  merit  so  by  breath  is  barr'd. 

It  is  not  so  with  Him  that  all  things  knows 

As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows ; 

But  most  it  is  presumption  in  us  when 

The  help  of  Heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men.     155 

Dear  sir,  to  my  endeavours  give  consent ; 

Of  Heaven,  not  me,  make  an  experiment. 

I  am  not  an  impostor  that  proclaim 

Myself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim  ; 

But  know  I  think  and  think  I  know  most  sure 

My  art  is  not  past  power  nor  you  past  cure.       161 

King.   Art  thou  so  confident  ?     Within  what  space 
Hop'st  thou  my  cure  ? 

Hel,  The  great 'st  grace  lending  grace. 

Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
Their  fiery  torcher  his  diurnal  ring,  165 

Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
Moist  Hesperus  hath  quench'd  her  sleepy  lamp. 
Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass. 
What  is  infirm  from  your  sound  parts  shall  fly,  170 
Health  shall  live  free  and  sickness  freely  die. 

King.    Upon  thy  certainty  and  confidence 
What  dar'st  thou  venture  ? 

Hel.  Tax  of  impudence, 

A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame. 


36  jaU'fi^  «ell  tijat  €nt$  «ell    Act  ii 

Traduc'd  by  odious  ballads,  my  maiden's  name  175 
Sear'd  otherwise  ;  nay,  worse  of  worst  extended. 
With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended. 

King.   Methinks  in  thee  some  blessed  spirit  doth  speak 
His  powerful  sound  within  an  organ  weak ; 
And  what  impossibility  would  slay  180 

In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
Thy  life  is  dear  ;  for  all  that  life  can  rate 
Worth  name  of  life  in  thee  hath  estimate,  — 
Youth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  all 
That  happiness  and  prime  can  happy  call :         185 
Thou  this  to  hazard  needs  must  intimate 
Skill  infinite  or  monstrous  desperate. 
Sweet  practiser,  thy  physic  I  will  try. 
That  ministers  thine  own  death  if  I  die. 

HcL    If  I  break  time,  or  flinch  in  property  190 

Of  what  I  spoke,  unpitied  let  me  die. 
And  well  deserv'd.     Not  helping,  death's  my  fee  ; 
But,  if  I  help,  what  do  you  promise  me .'' 

King.   Make  thy  demand. 

Hel.  But  will  you  make  it  even  ? 

King.   Ay,  by  my  sceptre  and  my  hopes  of  heaven.     195 

Hel.   Then  shalt  thou  give  me  with  thy  kingly  hand 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  command  ; 
Exempted  be  from  me  the  arrogance 
To  choose  from  forth  the  royal  blood  of  France, 
My  low  and  humble  name  to  propagate  200 

With  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state  - 


sc.  11      air0  Mell  tljat  enos;  mdl        37 

But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal,  whom  I  know 
Is  free  for  me  to  ask,  thee  to  bestow. 
King.    Here  is  my  hand  ;  the  premises  observ'd, 

Thy  will  by  my  performance  shall  be  serv'd.       205 
So  make  the  choice  of  thy  ovv^n  time,  for  I, 
Thy  resolv'd  patient,  on  thee  still  rely. 
More  should  I  question  thee,  and  more  I  must,  — 
Though    more    to   know   could   not   be   more   to 

trust,  — 
From  whence  thou  cam'st,  how  tended  on  ;   but 

rest  210 

Unquestion'd  welcome  and  undoubted  blest. 
Give  me  some  help  here,  ho  !     If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  thy  deed. 

Flourish.     Exeunt. 

SCENE  II 

[Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace.] 
Enter  Countess  and  Clown. 

Count.   Come  on,  sir ;   I  shall  now  put  you  to  the 

height  of  your  breeding. 
Clo.    I   will    show    myself    highly    fed    and    lowly 

taught.  I  know  my  business  is  but  to  the  court. 
Count.   To  the  court !       Why,  what   place   make      .5 

you  special,  when  you  put  off  that  with  such 

contempt  ?     But  to  the  court ! 


38  ail's?  Mell  t^at  enUsf  «ell     Act  ii 

Clo.  Truly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man  any 
manners,  he  may  easily  put  it  ofiF  at  court.  He 
that  cannot  make  a  leg,  put  off's  cap,  kiss  his  10 
hand  and  say  nothing,  has  neither  leg,  hands, 
lip,  nor  cap  ;  and  indeed  such  a  fellow,  to 
say  precisely,  were  not  for  the  court.  But  for 
me,  I  have  an  answer  will  serve  all  men. 

Count.    Marry,  that's  a  bountiful  answer  that  fits      15 
all  questions. 

Clo.  It  is  like  a  barber's  chair  that  fits  all  buttocks, 
the  pin-buttock,  the  quatch-buttock,  the 
brawn  buttock,  or  any  buttock. 

Count.   Will    your    answer    serve  fit  to    all   ques-    20 
tions  ? 

Clo.  As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an 
attorney,  as  your  French  crown  for  your 
tafiFeta  punk,  as  Tib's  rush  for  Tom's  fore- 
finger, as  a  pancake  for  Shrove  Tuesday,  a  25 
morris  for  Mayday,  as  the  nail  to  his  hole, 
the  cuckold  to  his  horn,  as  a  scolding  quean  to 
a  wrangling  knave,  as  the  nun's  lip  to  the 
friar's  mouth,  nay,  as  the  pudding  to  his  skin. 

Count.    Have  you,  I  say,  an  answer  of  such  fitness      30 
for  all  questions  ? 

Clo.  From  below  your  duke  to  beneath  your  con- 
stable, it  will  fit  any  question. 

Count.    It  must  be  an  answer  of  most  monstrous 

size  that  must  fit  all  demands,  35 


Sc.  11      ail*0  Mell  t^at  (lBnD0  «eU  39 

Clo.  But  a  trifle  neither,  in  good  faith,  if  the  learned 
should  speak  truth  of  it.  Here  it  is,  and  all 
that  belongs  to't.  Ask  me  if  I  am  a  courtier  : 
it  shall  do  you  no  harm  to  learn. 

Count.   To  be  young  again,  if  we  could,  I  will  be  a     40 
fool  in  question,  hoping  to  be  the  wiser  by  your 
answer.     I  pray  you,  sir,  are  you  a  courtier  ? 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir  !  —  There's  a  simple  putting  off. 
More,  more,  a  hundred  of  them. 

Count.    Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours,  that  loves     45 
you. 

Clo.   O  Lord,  sir  !  —  Thick,  thick,  spare  not  me. 

Count.  I  think,  sir,  you  can  eat  none  of  this  homely 
meat. 

Clo.   O  Lord,  sir  !  —  Nay,  put  me  to't,  I  warrant     50 
you. 

Count.   You  were  lately  whipp'd,  sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.   O  Lord,  sir  !  —  Spare  not  me. 

Count.   Do  you  cry,  "O  Lord,  sir  !"  at  your  whip- 
ping, and  "spare  not  me"  ?     Indeed  your  "0      55 
Lord,  sir  ! "  is  very  sequent  to  your  whipping  ; 
you  would  answer  very  well  to  a  whipping,  if 
you  were  but  bound  to't. 

Clo.    I  ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life  in  my  **0 

Lord,  sir  !"     I  see  things  may  serve  long,  but     60 
not  serve  ever. 

Count.  I  play  the  noble  housewife  with  the  time. 
To  entertain't  so  merrily  with  a  fool. 


40         all's?  Well  t^at  enO0  OTell    Act  n 

Clo.   O    Lord,   sir !  —  Why,    there't    serves    well 

again.  65 

Count.   An  end,  sir.     To  your  business  !     Give  Helen 
this. 

And  urge  her  to  a  present  answer  back. 

Commend  me  to  my  kinsmen  and  my  son. 

This  is  not  much. 
Clo.   Not  much  commendation  to  them.  70 

Count.   Not    much    employment    for    you.     You 

understand  me  ? 
Clo.   Most  fruitfully ;  I  am  there  before  my  legs. 
Count.   Haste  you  again.  Exeunt  [severally], 

SCENE  III 

[Paris.     The  King*s  palace.] 
Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

Laf.  They  say  miracles  are  past ;  and  we  have  our 
philosophical  persons,  to  make  modern  and  fa- 
miliar, things  supernatural  and  causeless.  Hence 
is  it  that  we  make  trifles  of  terrors,  ensconcing 
ourselves  into  seeming  knowledge,  when  we  5 
should  submit  ourselves  to  an  unknown  fear. 

Par.    Why,  'tis  the  rarest  argument  of  wonder  that 
hath  shot  out  in  our  latter  times. 

Ber.   And  so  'tis. 

Laf.   To  be  relinquish'd  of  the  artists,  —  10 


Sc.  Ill    ail'0  Witll  tliat  (Il;ntJ0  Witll  41 

Par.   So  I  say  ;  both  of  Galen  and  Paracelsus. 

Laf.   Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  fellows,  — 

Par.   Right ;  so  I  say.  15 

Laf.   That  gave  him  out  incurable,  — 

Par.   Why,  there  'tis  ;  so  say  I  too. 

Laf.   Not  to  be  help'd,  — 

Par.   Right ;   as  'twere  a  man  assured  of  a  — 

Laf.   Uncertain  life,  and  sure  death.  20 

Par.   Just,  you  say  well ;  so  would  I  have  said. 

Laf.   I   may   truly   say,   it   is   a   novelty   to   the 
world. 

Par.    It  is,  indeed ;   if  you  will  have  it  in  show- 
ing, you  shall  read  it  in  —  what  do  ye  call     25 
there  ? 

Laf.   A  showing  of  a  heavenly  effect  in  an  earthly 
actor. 

Par.   That's   it ;    I    would    have  said    the    very 

same.  30 

Laf.   Why,  your  Dauphin  is  not  lustier.     'Fore  me, 
I  speak  in  respect  — 

Par.   Nay,  'tis  strange,  'tis  very  strange,  that  is  the 
brief  and  the  tedious  of  it ;  and  he's  of  a  most 
facinorous  spirit  that  will  not  acknowledge  it     35 
to  be  the  — 

Laf.   Very  hand  of  Heaven. 

Par.   Ay,  so  I  say. 

Laf.    In  a  most  weak  — 

Par.   And  debile  minister,  great  power,  great  Iran-     40 


43  ail'flf  Mell  tljat  <0nl>0  OTell     Actii 

scendence ;    which  should,  indeed,  give  us  a 
further  use  to  be  made  than  alone  the  recovery 
of  the  King,  as  to  be  — 
Laf.    Generally  thankful. 

Enter  King,  Helena,  and  Attendants. 

Par.   I  would  have  said  it ;   you  say  well.     Here     45 
comes  the  King. 

Laf.   Lustig,  as  the  Dutchman  says.     I'll  like  a 
maid  the  better,  whilst  I  have  a  tooth  in  my 
head.     ^Vhy,  he's  able  to  lead  her  a  coranto. 

Par.   Mort  du  vinaigre !  is  not  this  Helen .''  50 

Laf.   'Fore  God,  I  think  so. 

King.   Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court. 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side  ; 
And  with  this  healthful  hand,  whose  banish'd  sense 
Thou  hast  repeal'd,  a  second  time  receive  55 

The  confirmation  of  my  promis'd  gift, 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

Enter  three  or  four  Lords. 

Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye.     This  youthful 

parcel 
Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing, 
O'er  whom  both  sovereign  power  and  father's  voice 
I  have  to  use.     Thy  frank  election  make  ;  61 

Thou  hast  power  to  choose,  and  they  none  to  for- 
sake. 


sc.  Ill   airsf  mtii  ttjac  enus?  mtw       43 

Hel.  To  each  of  you  one  fair  and  virtuous  mistress 

Fall,  when  Love  please  !     Marry,  to  each  but  one  ! 
Laf.    I'd  give  bay  Curtal  and  his  furniture,  65 

My  mouth  no  more  were  broken  than  these  boys'. 

And  writ  as  little  beard. 
King.  Peruse  them  well. 

Not  one  of  those  but  had  a  noble  father. 
Hel.    Gentlemen, 

Heaven  hath  through  me  restor'd  the  King  to 

health.  70 

AU.   We  understand  it,  and  thank  Heaven  for  you. 
Hel.    I  am  a  simple  maid,  and  therein  wealthiest, 

That  I  protest  I  simply  am  a  maid. 

Please  it  your  Majesty,  I  have  done  already. 

The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  whisper  me,  75 

*'We  blush  that  thou  shouldst  choose ;  but,  be  re- 
fus'd. 

Let  the  white  death  sit  on  thy  cheek  for  ever, 

We'U  ne'er  come  there  again." 
King.  Make  choice  and  see. 

Who  shuns  thy  love  shuns  all  his  love  in  me. 
Hel.   Now,  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  fly,  80 

And  to  imperial  Love,  that  god  most  high. 

Do  my  sighs  stream.     Sir,  will  you  hear  my  suit  ? 
1.  Lord.   And  grant  it. 

Hel.  Thanks,  sir  ;  all  the  rest  is  mute. 

Laf.    I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice  than  throw 

ames-ace  for  my  life.  85 


44  aU'Sf  mtll  tl^at  enDg  mtll     Act  II 

HeZ.   The  honour,  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair  eyes. 

Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  repHes. 

Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 

Her  that  so  wishes  and  her  humble  love  ! 
S.  Lord.   No  better,  if  you  please. 
Hel.  My  wish  receive,  90 

"WTiich  great  Love  grant !  and  so,  I  take  my  leave. 
Laf.   Do  all  they  deny  her  ?     An  they  were  sons 

of  mine,  I'd  have  them  whipp'd  ;    or  I  would 

send  them  to  the  Turk,  to  make  eunuchs  of. 
Hel.   Be  not  afraid  that  I  your  hand  should  take  ;      95 

I'll  never  do  you  wrong  for  your  own  sake. 

Blessing  upon  your  vows  !  and  in  your  bed 

Find  fairer  fortune,  if  you  ever  wed  ! 
Laf.   These  boys  are  boys  of  ice,  they'll  none  have 

her.     Sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  English  ;    100 

the  French  ne'er  got  'em. 
Hel.  You  are  too  young,  too  happy,  and  too  good, 

To  make  yourself  a  son  out  of  my  blood. 
^.  Lord.    Fair  one,  I  think  not  so. 
Laf.   There's  one  grape  yet ;    I  am  sure  thy  father   105 

drunk  wine  :  —  but  if  thou  be'st  not  an  ass,  I 

am  a  youth  of  fourteen.     I  have  known  thee 

already. 
Hel.   [To  Bertram.]    I  dare  not  say  I  take  you ;   but  I 
give 

Me  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live,  110 

Into  your  guiding  power.     This  is  the  man. 


Sc.  Ill     all's;  Mell  ttiat  enO0  Well         45 

King.   Why,   then,   young  Bertram,   take  her ;    she's 
thy  wife. 

Ber.   My  wife,  my  liege  !     I  shall  beseech  your  High- 
ness, 
In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use  114 

The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

King.  Know'st  thou  not,  Bertram, 

What  she  has  done  for  me  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  my  good  lord  ; 

But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry  her. 

King.   Thou  know'st  she  has  rais'd  me  from  my  sickly 
bed. 

Ber.   But  follows  it,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  down 

Must  answer  for  your  raising  ?  I  know  her  well ;  120 
She  had  her  breeding  at  my  father's  charge. 
A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife  !     Disdain 
Rather  corrupt  me  ever  ! 

King.   'Tis  only  title  thou  disdain'st  in  her,  the  which 

I  can  build  up.     Strange  is  it  that  our  bloods,      125 

Of^colour,  weight,  and  heat,  pour'd  all  together. 

Would  quite  confound  distinction,  yet  stand  off 

In  differences  so  mighty.     If  she  be 

All  that  is  virtuous,  save  what  thou  dislik'st, 

A  poor  physician's  daughter,  thou  dislik'st  130 

Of  virtue  for  the  name.     But  do  not  so. 

From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed, 

The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed. 

Where  great  additions  swell's,  and  virtue  none. 


46  aU'0  Well  ttiat  C'utifif  «eU    Act  ii 

It  is  a  dropsied  honour.     Good  alone  135 

Is  good,  without  a  name.     Vileness  is  so  ; 

The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go, 

Not  by  the  title.     She  is  young,  wise,  fair ; 

In  these  to  nature  she's  immediate  heir. 

And  these  breed  honour.     That  is  honour's  scorn, 

Which  challenges  itself  as  honour's  born  141 

And  is  not  like  the  sire.     Honours  thrive, 

When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 

Than  our  foregoers.     The  mere  word's  a  slave 

Debauch'd  on  every  tomb,  on  every  grave  145 

A  lying  trophy,  and  as  oft  is  dumb 

Where  dust  and  damn'd  oblivion  is  the  tomb 

Of  honour'd  bones  indeed.     What  should  be  said  ? 

If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 

I  can  create  the  rest.     Virtue  and  she  150 

Is  her  own  dower  ;  honour  and  wealth  from  me. 

Ber.    I  cannot  love  her,  nor  w^ill  strive  to  do't. 

King.    Thou  wrong'st  thyself,  if  thou  shouldst  strive 
to  choose. 

Hel.   That  you  are  well  restor'd,  my  lord,  I'm  glad. 

Let  the  rest  go.  155 

King.   My  honour's  at  the  stake  ;  which  to  defeat, 

I  must  produce  my  power.      Here,  take  her  hand, 
Proud  scornful  boy,  unworthy  this  good  gift ; 
That  dost  in  vile  misprision  shackle  up 
My  love  and  her  desert ;  that  canst  not  dream. 
We,  poising  us  in  her  defective  scale,  161 


Sc.  in    ail's?  OTtll  t^at  CnD0  «ell         47 

Shall  weigh  thee  to  the  beam,  that  wilt  not  know. 

It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honour  where 

We  please  to  have  it  grow.     Check  thy  contempt ; 

Obey  our  will,  which  travails  in  thy  good  ;  165 

Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 

Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right 

Which  both  thy  duty  owes  and  our  power  claims ; 

Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever 

Into  the  staggers  and  the  careless  lapse  170 

Of  youth  and  ignorance ;    both  my  revenge  and 

hate 
Loosing  upon  thee,  in  the  name  of  justice, 
Without  all  terms  of  pity.     Speak  ;   thine  answer. 

Ber.   Pardon,  my  gracious  lord  ;  for  I  submit 

My  fancy  to  your  eyes.     When  I  consider  175 

What  great  creation  and  what  dole  of  honour 
Flies  where  you  bid  it,  I  find  that  she,  which  late 
Was  in  my  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  King  ;  who,  so  ennobled. 
Is  as  'twere  born  so. 

King.  Take  her  by  the  hand,      180 

And  tell  her  she  is  thine  ;  to  whom  I  promise 
A  counterpoise,  if  not  to  thy  estate 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Ber.  I  take  her  hand. 

King.   Good  fortune  and  the  favour  of  the  King 

Smile  upon  this  contract ;  whose  ceremony  185 

Shall  seem  expedient  on  the  now-born  brief» 


48  2ilVsi  OTell  tljat  enti0  OTell    Act  ii 

And  be  perform'd  to-night.     The  solemn  feast 

Shall  more  attend  upon  the  coming  space, 

Expecting  absent  friends.     As  thou  lov'st  her, 

Thy  love's  to  me  religious  ;  else,  does  err.  190 

Exeunt  all   but  Lafeu  and  Parolles,  who 
stay  behind,  commenting  of  this  wedding. 
Laf.    [Advanchig .]   Do    you    hear,   monsieur.''     A 

word  with  you. 
Par.    Your  pleasure,  sir  ? 
Laf.   Your  lord  and  master  did  well  to  make  his 

recantation.  195 

Par.   Recantation  !    My  lord  !    My  master  ! 
Laf.   Ay  ;   is  it  not  a  language  I  speak  "^ 
Par.   A  most  harsh  one,  and  not  to  be  understood 

without  bloody  succeeding.     My  master  ! 
Laf.   Are    you    companion    to    the    Count    Rou-   200 

sillon  ? 
Par.   To   any   count,    to  all    counts,   to  what   is 

man. 
Laf.   To   what   is    coimt's  man.      Count's  master 

is  of  another  style.  205 

Par.    You  are  too  old,  sir  ;    let  it  satisfy  you,  you 

are  too  old. 
Laf.    I  must  tell  thee,   sirrah,   I  write  man ;    to 

which  title  age  cannot  bring  thee. 
Par.    AVhat  I  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do.  210 

Laf.    I  did  think  thee,  for  two  ordinaries,  to  be  a 

pretty  wise  fellow.     Thou  didst  make  tolerable 


Sc.  Ill    aU'0  Mell  tliat  enti0  Mell  49 

vent  of  thy  travel ;  it  might  pass  :  yet  the 
scarfs  and  the  bannerets  about  thee  did  mani- 
foldly dissuade  me  from  believing  thee  a  vessel  215 
of  too  great  a  burden.  I  have  now  found  thee. 
When  I  lose  thee  again,  I  care  not ;  yet  art 
thou  good  for  nothing  but  taking  up,  and  that 
thou'rt  scarce  worth. 

Par.   Hadst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity   220 
upon  thee,  — 

Laj.  Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger,  lest 
thou  hasten  thy  trial ;  which  if  —  Lord  have 
mercy  on  thee  for  a  hen  !  So,  my  good  window 
of  lattice,  fare  thee  well  !  Thy  casement  I  225 
need  not  open,  for  I  look  through  thee.  Give 
me  thy  hand. 

Par.  My  lord,  you  give  me  most  egregious  indig- 
nity. 

Laf.   Ay,  with  all  my  heart ;   and  thou  art  worthy    230 
of  it. 

Par.    I  have  not,  my  lord,  deserv'd  it. 

lM,f.  Yes,  good  faith,  every  dram  of  it ;  and  I  will 
not  bate  thee  a  scruple. 

Par.    Well,  I  shall  be  wiser.  235 

lAif.  Ev'n  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  to 
pull  at  a  smack  o'  the  contrary.  If  ever  thou 
be'st  bound  in  thy  scarf  and  beaten,  thou  shalt 
find  what  it  is  to  be  proud  of  thy  bondage.  I 
have  a  desire  to  hold  my  acquaintance  with   240 

E 


so  ail'0  Mell  tliat  (IBnD0  mti\    Act  li 

thee,  or  rather  my  knowledge,  that  I  may  say 
in  the  default,  he  is  a  man  I  know. 

Par.   My  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable  vexa- 
tion. 

Laf.    I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake,  and   245 
my  poor  doing  eternal ;   for  doing  I  am  past, 
as  I  will  by  thee,  in  what  motion  age  will  give 
me  leave.  Exit. 

Par.   Well,  thou  hast  a  son  shall  take  this  disgrace 

oflf  me,  scurvy,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord  !  Well,  250 
I  must  be  patient ;  there  is  no  fettering  of  au- 
thority. I'll  beat  him,  by  my  life,  if  I  can  meet 
him  with  any  convenience,  an  he  were  double 
and  double  a  lord.  I'll  have  no  more  pity  of 
his  age  than  I  would  have  of  —  I'll  beat  him,  255 
an  if  I  could  but  meet  him  again. 

Re-enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.   Sirrah,  your  lord  and  master's  married  ;  there's 
news  for  you.     You  have  a  new  mistress. 

Par.    I  most  unfeignedly  beseech  your  lordship  to 

make  some  reservation  of  your  wrongs.     He  is   260 
my  good  lord ;    whom  I  serve  above  is  my 
master. 

Laf.   Who.?     God.?^ 

Par.   Ay,  sir. 

Laf.   The  devil  it  is  that's  thy  master.     ^Vhy  dost 

thou  garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this  fashion  ?     Dost    265 


Sc.  Ill     au^0  OTlell  ttjat  enO0  Mrll         51 

make  hose  of  thy  sleeves  ?  Do  other  servants 
so  ?  Thou  wert  best  set  thy  lower  part  where 
thy  nose  stands.  By  mine  honour,  if  I  were 
but  two  hours  younger,  I'd  beat  thee.  Me- 
thinks,  thou  art  a  general  offence,  and  every  270 
man  should  beat  thee.  I  think  thou  wast  cre- 
ated for  men  to  breathe  themselves  upon  thee. 

Par.   This  is  hard   and  undeserved  measure,  my 
lord. 

LkiJ.  Go  to,  sir  ;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for  pick-  275 
ing  a  kernel  out  of  a  pomegranate.  You  are  a 
vagabond  and  no  true  traveller.  You  are  more 
saucy  with  lords  and  honourable  personages 
than  the  commission  of  your  birth  and  virtue 
gives  you  heraldry.  You  are  not  worth  another  280 
word,  else  I'd  call  you  knave.     I  leave  you.      Exit. 

Re-enter  Bertram, 

Par.    Good,    very   good ;     it   is   so   then.     Good, 

very  good  ;  let  it  be  conceal'd  awhile. 
Ber.   Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever  ! 
Par.    What's  the  matter,  sweetheart  ?  285 

Ber.   Although  before  the  solemn  priest  I  have  sworn, 

I  will  not  bed  her. 
Par.    What,  what,  sweetheart  ? 
Ber.   O  my  Parolles,  they  have  married  me  ! 

I'll  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her.         290 


52  aU'flf  Mrll  tliat  enU0  Mell    Act  ii 

Par.   France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  it  no  more  merits 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot.     To  the  wars  ! 

Ber.   There's  letters  from  my  mother ;    what  the 
import  is,  I  know  not  yet. 

Par.   Ay,  that  would  be  known.     To  the  wars,  my  boy, 
to  the  wars  !  295 

He  wears  his  honour  in  a  box  unseen. 
That  hugs  his  kicky-wicky  here  at  home, 
Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms. 
Which  should  sustain  the  bound  and   high  cur- 
vet 
Of  Mars's  fiery  steed.     To  other  regions  !  300 

France  is  a  stable,  we  that  dwell  in't  jades, 
Therefore,  to  the  war  ! 

Ber.    It  shall  be  so.     I'll  send  her  to  my  house. 
Acquaint  my  mother  with  my  hate  to  her. 
And  wherefore  I  am  fled  ;  write  to  the  King       305 
That  which  I  durst  not  speak.     His  present  gift 
Shall  furnish  me  to  those  Italian  fields 
Where  noble  fellows  strike.     War  is  no  strife 
To  the  dark  house  and  the  detested  wife. 

Par.   Will  this  capriccio  hold  in  thee  ?     Art  sure  ?   310 

Ber.   Go  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  advise  me. 
I'll  send  her  straight  away.     To-morrow 
I'll  to  the  wars,  she  to  her  single  sorrow. 

Par.   Why,  these  balls  bound  ;   there's  noise  in  it.     'Tis 
hard  ! 
A  young  man  married  is  a  man  that's  marr'd  ;   315 


Sc.  IV    m'&  «eU  t^at  enDsf  Mell         53 

Therefore  away,  and  leave  her  bravely  ;  go. 
The  King  has  done  you  wrong ;  but,  hush,  'tis  so. 

Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV 

[Paris.     The  King's  palace.] 

Enter  Helena  and  Clown. 

Hel.   My  mother  greets  me  kindly.     Is  she  well  ? 
Clo.   She  is  not  well,  but  yet  she  has  her  health. 

She's  very  merry,  but  yet  she  is  not  well ;  but 

thanks  be  given,  she's  very  well  and  wants 

nothing  i'  the  world  ;   but  yet  she  is  not  well.       5 
Hel.    If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail,  that 

she's  not  very  well  ? 
Clo.   Truly,  she's  very  well  indeed,  but  for  two 

things. 
Hel.   What  two  things  ?  10 

Clo.   One,  that  she's  not  in  heaven,  whither  God 

send  her  quickly !  the  other,  that  she's  in  earth, 

from  whence  God  send  her  quickly  ! 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.   Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady ! 

Hel.   I  hope,  sir,  I  have  your  good  will  to  have     15 

mine  own  good  fortunes. 
Par.   You  had  my  prayers  to  lead  them  on ;   and 


54  ail's?  Mell  tljat  enU0  «ell     Actii 

to  keep  them  on,  have  them  still.     O,  my 
knave,  how  does  my  old  lady  ? 

Clo.   So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles  and  I  her  money,     20 
I  would  she  did  as  you  say. 

Par.    ^Vhy,  I  say  nothing. 

Clo.   Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man ;   for  many  a 
man's  tongue  shakes  out  his  master's  undoing. 
To  say  nothing,  to  do  nothing,  to  know  nothing,     25 
and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  be  a  great  part  of  your 
title  ;  which  is  within  a  very  httle  of  nothing. 

Par.   Away  !   thou'rt  a  knave. 

Clo.   You  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  knave 

thou'rt  a  knave  ;   that's,  before  me  thou'rt  a     30 
knave.     This  had  been  truth,  sir. 

Par.   Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool ;    I  have  found 
thee. 

Clo.   Did  you  find  me  in  yourself,  sir,  or  were  you 

taught    to    find    me  .^     The    search,    sir,  was     35 
profitable ;    and  much  fool  may  you  find  in 
you,  even  to  the  world's  pleasure  and  the  in- 
crease of  laughter. 

Par.    A  good  knave,  i'  faith,  and  well  fed. 

Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-night ;  40 

A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love. 
Which,  as  your  due,  time  claims,  he  does  acknow- 
ledge ; 
But  puts  it  off  to  a  compell'd  restraint ; 


Sc.  V    aU'0  OTell  t^at  enDsf  mtii  55 

Whose  want,   and  whose  delay,   is   strew'd  with 
sweets,  45 

Which  they  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time. 

To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erflow  with  joy 

And  pleasure  drown  the  brim. 
Hel.  What's  his  will  else  ? 

Par.   That  you  will  take  your  instant  leave  o'  the  King, 

And  make  this  haste  as  your  own  good  proceeding, 

Strength'ned  with  what  apology  you  think  51 

May  make  it  probable  need. 
Hel.  What  more  commands  he  ? 

Par.   That,  having  this  obtain'd,  you  presently 

Attend  his  further  pleasure. 
Hel.   In  everything  I  wait  upon  his  will.  55 

Par.   I  shall  report  it  so.  Exit  Parolles, 

Hel.  I  pray  you. 

Come,  sirrah.  Exeunt, 

Scene  V 

[Paris.     The  King's  palace.] 

Enter  Lafeu  and  Bertram. 

Laf.   But  I  hope  your  lordship  thinks  not  him  a  sol- 
dier. 
Ber.   Yes,  my  lord,  and  of  very  valiant  approof. 
Laf.   You  have  it  from  his  own  deliverance. 
Ber.   And  by  other  warranted  testimony.  S 


56         ail'flf  Mell  tt)at  enti0  Mell    Act  ii 

Zaf.   Then  my  dial  goes  not  true.     I  took  this  lark 
for  a  bunting. 

Ber.    I  do  assure  you,  my  lord,  he  is  very  great  in 
knowledge  and  accordingly  valiant. 

Laf.  I  have  then  sinn'd  against  his  experience  and  10 
transgress'd  against  his  valour  ;  and  my  state 
that  way  is  dangerous,  since  I  cannot  yet  find 
in  my  heart  to  repent.  Here  he  comes.  I 
pray  you,  make  us  friends ;  I  will  pursue  the 
amity.  15 

EnUr  Parolles. 

Par.   [To  Bertram.]   These   things   shall   be  done, 

sir. 
Laf.   Pray  you,  sir,  who's  his  tailor  ? 
Par.   Sir? 
Laf.   O,  I  know  him  well,  I,  sir  ;  he,  sir,  's  a  good     20 

workman,  a  very  good  tailor. 
Ber.  [Aside  to  Par.]    Is  she  gone  to  the  King  ? 
Par.    She  is. 

Ber.   Will  she  away  to-night  .^ 

Par.   As  you'll  have  her.  25 

Ber.    I  have  writ  my  letters,  casketed  my  treasure, 

Given  order  for  our  horses  ;  and  to-night. 

When  I  should  take  possession  of  the  bride. 

End  ere  I  do  begin. 
Laf.    A  good  traveller  is  something  at  the  latter  end     30 

of  a  dinner  ;  but  one  that  lies  three  thirds  and 


Sc.  V     3lVfS  Mell  tlftat  ent)0  OTell         57 

uses  a  known  truth  to  pass  a  thousand  nothings 
with,  should  be  once  heard  and  thrice  beaten. 
God  save  you,  captain. 

Ber.   Is  there  any  un kindness  between  my  lord  and     35 
you,  monsieur? 

Par.    I  know  not  how  I  have  deserved  to  run  into 
my  lord's  displeasure. 

Laf.   You  have  made  shift  to  run  into't,  boots  and 

spurs  and  all,  like  him  that  leap'd  into  the  cus-     40 
tard ;    and  out  of  it  you'll  run  again,  rather 
than  sufifer  question  for  your  residence. 

Ber,    It  may  be  you  have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 

Laf.   And  shall  do  so  ever,  though  I  took  him  at's 

prayers.  Fare  you  well,  my  lord ;  and  be-  45 
lieve  this  of  me,  there  can  be  no  kernel  in  this 
light  nut :  the  soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes. 
Trust  him  not  in  matter  of  heavy  conse- 
quence ;  I  have  kept  of  them  tame,  and  know 
their  natures.  Farewell,  monsieur !  I  have  50 
spoken  better  of  you  than  you  have  or  will  to 
deserve  at  my  hand ;  but  we  must  do  good 
against  evil.  [Exit.] 

Par.   An  idle  lord,  I  swear. 

Ber.   I  think  so.  55 

Par.   Why,  do  you  not  know  him  ? 

Ber.   Yes,  I  do  know  him  well,  and  common  speech 

Gives    him    a    worthy    pass.      Here    comes    my 
clog. 


58  airs;  OTell  t^at  enUs?  Well    Act  ii 


Enter  Helena. 

Hel.    I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  commanded  from  you, 

Spoke  with  the  King  and  have  procur'd  his  leave 
For  present  parting  ;   only  he  desires  61 

Some  private  speech  with  you. 

Ber.  I  shall  obey  his  will. 

You  must  not  marvel,  Helen,  at  my  course, 
"Which  holds  not  colour  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  office  65 

On  my  particular.     Prepar'd  I  was  not 
For  such  a  business  ;   therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled.     This  drives   me   to   entreat 

you 
That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home. 
And  rather  muse  than  ask  why  I  entreat  you  ;       70 
For  my  respects  are  better  than  they  seem, 
And  my  appointments  have  in  them  a  need 
Greater  than  shows  itself  at  the  first  view 
To  you  that  know  them  not.     This  to  my  mother  : 

[Giving  a  letter.] 
'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you,  so  75 

I  leave  you  to  your  wisdom. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say. 

But  that  I  am  your  most  obedient  servant,  — 

Ber.   Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 

Hel.  And  ever  shall 

With  true  observance  seek  to  eke  out  that         79 


Sc.  V     airsf  OTell  t^at  CuDsf  mtll         59 

Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd 

To  equal  my  great  fortune. 
Ber.  Let  that  go. 

My  haste  is  very  great.     Farewell ;   hie  home. 
Hel.   Pray,  sir,  your  pardon. 

Ber.  Well,  what  would  you  say  ? 

Hel.    I  am  not  worthy  of  the  wealth  I  owe, 

Nor  dare  I  say  'tis  mine,  and  yet  it  is  ;  85 

But,  like  a  timorous  thief,  most  fain  would  steal 

What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 
Ber.  What  would  you  have  ? 

Hel.   Something  ;    and  scarce  so  much.     Nothing,  in- 
deed. 

I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would,  my  lord. 

Faith,  yes  !  90 

Strangers  and  foes  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 
Ber.    I  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 
Hel.    I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my  lord. 
Ber.   Where  are  my  other  men  ? 
Hel.  Monsieur,  farewell ! 

Exit. 
Ber.   Go  thou  toward  home,  where  I  will  never  come 

Whilst  I  can  shake  my  sword  or  hear  the  drum. 

Away,  and  for  our  flight. 
Par.  Bravely,  coraylo ! 

[Exeunt.] 


ACT  THIRD 

SCBNB  I 

[Florence.     The  Duke's  palace.] 

Flourish.    Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  the  two  French 
Lords,  with  a  troop  of  soldiers. 

Duke.   So  that  from  point  to  point  now  have  you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war, 
Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forth 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

1.  Lord.  Holy  seems  the  quarrel 

Upon  your  Grace's  part ;  black  and  fearful  5 

On  the  opposer. 

Duke.   Therefore  we  marvel  much  our  cousin  France 
Would  in  so  just  a  business  shut  his  bosom 
Against  our  borrowing  prayers. 

1.  Lord.  Good  my  lord. 

The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield  10 

But  like  a  common  and  an  outward  man 
That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 
By  self-unable  motion  ;   therefore  dare  not 
Say  what  I  think  of  it,  since  I  have  found 
Myself  in  my  incertain  grounds  to  fail  15 

As  often  as  I  guess'd. 

Duke.  Be  it  his  pleasure. 

6o 


Sc.  II    aU'0  Mell  t\)U  C-ntis;  Mell  6i 

2.  Lord.   But  I  am  sure  the  younger  of  our  nature, 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will  day  by  day 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke.  Welcome  shall  they  be  ; 

And  all  the  honours  that  can  fly  from  us  20 

Shall  on  them  settle.  —  You  know   your  places 

well ; 
When  better  fall,  for  your  avails  they  fell. 
To-morrow  to  the  field.  Flourish,   [ExeurU.] 

Scene  II 

[Rousillon.     The  Count* s  palace.] 
Enter  Countess  and  Cloum. 

Count.  It  hath  happen 'd  all  as  I  would  have  had  it, 
save  that  he  comes  not  along  with  her. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a 
very  melancholy  man. 

Count.    By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  .''  5 

Clo.  Why,  he  will  look  upon  his  boot  and  sing ; 
mend  the  ruff  and  sing  ;  ask  questions  and 
sing  ;  pick  his  teeth  and  sing.  I  know  a  man 
that  had  this  trick  of  melancholy  sold  a  goodly 
manor  for  a  song.  10 

Count.   Let  me  see  what  he  writes,  and  when  he 

means  to  come.  [Opening  a  letter.] 

Clo.    I  have  no  mind  to  Isbel  since  I  was  at  court. 


62         aill'0  Well  ttiat  (iBnDg  mtll  Act  in 

Our  old  ling  and  our  Isbels  o'  the  country  are 
nothing  like  your  old  ling  and  your  Isbels  o'      15 
the  court.     The  brains  of  my  Cupid's  knock'd 
out,  and  I  begin  to  love,  as  an  old  man  loves 
money,  with  no  stomach. 
Count.    What  have  we  here  ? 
\    Clo.   E'en  that  you  have  there.  Exit.  20 

/    [Count.     Reads]  a  letter.    "  I  have  sent  you  a  daugh- 
/  ter-in-law  ;   she  hath  recovered  the  King,  and 

undone  me.  I  have  wedded  her,  not  bedded 
her;  and  sworn  to  make  the  'not'  eternal. 
You  shall  hear  I  am  run  away  :  know  it  before  25 
the  report  come.  If  there  be  breadth  enough 
in  the  world,  I  will  hold  a  long  distance.  My 
duty  to  you. 

Your  unfortunate  son, 

Bertram." 
This  is  not  well,  rash  and  unbridled  boy,  SO 

To  fly  the  favours  of  so  good  a  king, 
To  pluck  his  indignation  on  thy  head 
By  the  misprising  of  a  maid  too  virtuous 
For  the  contempt  of  empire. 

Re-enter  Clown. 

Clo.   O  madam,  yonder  is  heavy  news  within  be-     35 

tween  two  soldiers  and  my  young  lady  ! 
Count.   What  is  the  matter  ? 
Clo.   Nay,  there  is  some  comfort  in  the  news,  some 


sc.  II    airsf  mtw  tijat  enos?  mtii       63 

comfort.     Your  son  will  not  be  kill'd  so  soon 

as  I  thought  he  would.  40 

Count.   Why  should  he  be  kill'd  ? 

Clo.   So  say  I,  madam,  if  he  run  away,  as  I  hear  he 
does.     The  danger  is  in  standing  to't.     That's 
the  loss  of  men,  though  it  be  the  getting  of 
children.     Here  they  come  will  tell  you  more  ;     45 
for  my  part,  I  only  hear  your  son  was  run  away. 

[ExU.] 
Enter  Helena  and  the  two  French  Lords. 

1.  Lord.   Save  you,  good  madam. 

Hel.   Madam,  my  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone. 

2.  Lord.   Do  not  say  so. 

Count.   Think  upon  patience,  pray  you.     Gentlemen, 
I  have  felt  so  many  quirks  of  joy  and  grief,  51 

That  the  first  face  of  neither,  on  the  start, 
Can  woman  me  unto't.     Where  is  my  son,  I  pray 
you.?^ 
2.  Lord.   Madam,  he's  gone  to  serve  the  Duke  of  Flor- 
ence. 
We  met  him  thitherward  ;  for  thence  we  came,   55 
And,  after  some  dispatch  in  hand  at  court. 
Thither  we  bend  again. 
Hel.   Look  on  his  letter,  madam  ;  here's  my  passport. 
[Reads.]    "When  thou  canst  get  the  ring  upon 
/  my  finger  which  never  shall  come  off,  and  show      60 
me  a  child  begotten  of  thy  body  that  I  am 


64        31V^  Well  t^at  (IBnD0  OTell    Act  in 

father  to,  then  call  me  husband  ;  but  in  such  a 
*then'  I  write  a  'never.'" 

This  is  a  dreadful  sentence.  64 

Count.   Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen? 

1.  Lord.  Ay,  madam  ; 

And  for  the  contents'  sake  are  sorry  for  our  pains. 
Count.    I  prithee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer  ; 
If  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine. 
Thou  robb'st  me  of  a  moiety.     He  was  my  son  ; 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood,  70 

And  thou  art  all  my  child.     Towards  Florence  is 
he? 

2.  Lord.   Ay,  madam. 

Count.  And  to  be  a  soldier  ? 

2.  Lord.  Such  is  his  noble  purpose  ;   and,  believe't. 

The  Duke  will  lay  upon  him  all  the  honour  74 

That  good  convenience  claims. 
Count.  Return  you  thither  ? 

1.  Lord.   Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  wing  of  speed. 
Hel.  [Reads.]    "Till  I  have  no  wife,  I  have  nothing 

in  France." 

'Tis  bitter. 
Count.  Find  you  that  there  .? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam. 

1.  Lord.    'Tis  but  the  boldness  of  his  hand,  haply, 

which  his  heart  was  not  consenting  to.  80 

Count.   Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wife  ! 

There's  nothing  here  that  is  too  good  for  him 


Sc.  II      airsf  WitW  ttjat  CntJSf  Mell         65 

But  only  she  ;  and  she  deserves  a  lord 

That  twenty  such  rude  boys  might  tend  upon 

And  call  her  hourly  mistress.     Who  was  with  him  ? 

1.  Lord.   A  servant  only,  and  a  gentleman  86 

Which  I  have  sometime  known. 

Count.  ParoUes,  was  it  not  ? 

1.  Lord.   Ay,  my  good  lady,  he. 

Count.   A  very  tainted  fellow,  and  full  of  wickedness. 
My  son  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature  90 

With  his  inducement. 

1.  Lord.  Indeed,  good  lady, 

The  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that  too  much. 
Which  holds  him  much  to  have. 
Count.   You're  welcome,  gentlemen. 

I  will  entreat  you,  when  you  see  my  son,  95 

To  tell  him  that  his  sword  can  never  win 
The  honour  that  he  loses.     More  I'll  entreat  you 
Written  to  bear  along. 

2.  Lord.  We  serve  you,  madam. 

In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  aflFairs. 
Count.   Not  so,  but  as  we  change  our  courtesies.        100 

Will  you  draw  near  ? 

Exeunt  [Countess  and  Lords]. 
Eel.   "Till  I   have   no  wife,  I  have  nothing   in 

France." 

Nothing  in  France,  until  he  has  no  wife  ! 

Thou  shalt  have  none,  Rousillon,  none  in  France ; 

Then  hast  thou  all  again.     Poor  lord  !  is't  I      105 

F 


66         ail'0  Mell  tt)at  C-nUfif  Mell    Act  in 

That  chase  thee  from  thy  country  and  expose 

Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 

Of  the  non-sparing  war  ?     And  is  it  I 

That  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  court,  where  thou 

Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark       110 

Of  smoky  muskets  ?     O  you  leaden  messengers, 

That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire. 

Fly  with  false  aim  ;   move  the  still-peering  air. 

That  sings  with  piercing  ;   do  not  touch  my  lord. 

Whoever  shoots  at  him,  I  set  him  there  ;  115 

Whoever  charges  on  his  forward  breast, 

I  am  the  caitiff  that  do  hold  him  to't ; 

And,  though  I  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  cause 

His  death  was  so  effected.     Better  'twere 

I  met  the  ravin  lion  when  he  roar'd  120 

With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger  ;  better  'twere 

That  all  the  miseries  which  nature  owes 

Were  mine  at  once.     No,  come  thou  home,  Rou- 

sillon. 
Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar. 
As  oft  it  loses  all.     I  will  be  gone.  125 

My  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence. 
Shall  I  stay  here  to  do't  ^    No,  no,  although 
The  air  of  paradise  did  fan  the  house 
And  angels  offic'd  all.     I  will  be  gone. 
That  pitiful  rumour  may  report  my  flight,         130 
To  consolate  thine  ear.     Come,  night ;  end,  day  ! 
For  with  the  dark,  poor  thief,  I'll  steal  away.   Exit. 


sc.  IV   aii'0  mdi  t\)u  (iEnu0  mtw       67 

SCENE  III 

[Florence.    Before  the  Duke*s  palace.] 

Flourish.     Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  Bertram,  ParolleSy 
Soldiers,  drum  and  trumpets. 

Duke.   The  general  of  our  horse  thou  art ;   and  we. 

Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence 

Upon  thy  promising  fortune. 
Ber.  Sir,  it  is 

A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength,  but  yet 

We'll  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  sake  5 

To  the  extreme  edge  of  hazard. 
Duke.  Then  go  thou  forth  ; 

And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  helm. 

As  thy  auspicious  mistress  ! 
Ber.  This  very  day. 

Great  Mars,  I  put  myself  into  thy  file. 

Make  me  but  like  my  thoughts,  and  I  shall  prove 

A  lover  of  thy  drum,  hater  of  love.  11 

Exeunt  omnea. 

SCENE  IV 

[Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace.] 

Enter  Countess  and  Steward. 

Count.   Alas  !  and  would  you  take  the  letter  of  her  ? 
Might  you  not  know  she  would  do  as  she  has  done. 
By  sending  me  a  letter  ?    Read  it  again. 


68  aU'sf  Witll  tliat  (Bnl>si  Witll   Act  iii 

[Stew.  Reads]  letter. 

"I  am  Saint  Jaques'  pilgrim,  thither  gone. 

Ambitious  love  hath  in  me  so  offended,  5 

That  barefoot  plod  I  the  cold  ground  upon, 

With  sainted  vow  my  faults  to  have  amended. 
Write,  write,  that  from  the  bloody  course  of  war 

My  dearest  master,  your  dear  son,  may  hie. 
Bless  him  at  home  in  peace,  whilst  I  from  far      10 

His  name  with  zealous  fervour  sanctify. 
His  taken  labours  bid  him  me  forgive. 

I,  his  despiteful  Juno,  sent  him  forth 
From  courtly  friends,  with  camping  foes  to  live, 

Wliere    death   and    danger    dogs    the    heels   of 
worth. 
He  is  too  good  and  fair  for  death  and  me,  16 

Whom  I  myself  embrace,  to  set  him  free." 

[Count.]     Ah,   what   sharp   stings  are   in  her   mildest 
words  ! 
Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice  so  much. 
As  letting  her  pass  so.     Had  I  spoke  with  her,    20 
I  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents. 
Which  thus  she  hath  prevented. 

Stew.  Pardon  me,  madam  ; 

If  I  had  given  you  this  at  over-night, 
She   might   have   been   o'erta'en ;    and    yet    she 

writes, 
Pursuit  would  be  but  vain. 


sc.  V    siiv^  mtii  tjat  enofif  mtii       69 

Count  What  angel  shall     25 

Bless  this  unworthy  husband  ?     He  cannot  thrive, 
Unless   her    prayers,    whom    Heaven    delights   to 

hear 
And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrath 
Of  greatest  justice.     Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 
To  this  unworthy  husband  of  his  wife.  30 

Let  every  word  weigh  heavy  of  her  worth 
That  he  does  weigh  too  light.     My  greatest  grief, 
Though  little  he  do  feel  it,  set  down  sharply. 
Dispatch  the  most  convenient  messenger. 
"When  haply  he  shall  hear  that  she  is  gone,  35 

He  will  return  ;   and  hope  I  may  that  she. 
Hearing  so  much,  will  speed  her  foot  again. 
Led  hither  by  pure  love.     Which  of  them  both 
Is  dearest  to  me,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 
To  make  distinction.     Provide  this  messenger.   40 
My  heart  is  heavy  and  mine  age  is  weak  ; 
Grief  would  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  me  speak. 

Exeunt 
Scene  V 

[Florence.     Without  the  walls.]     A  tucket  afar  off. 

Enter  an  old  Widow  of  Florence,  her  daughter,  [Diana,] 
Violenta,  and  Mariana,  with  other  Citizens. 

Wid.   Nay,  come  ;    for  if  they  do  approach  the 
city,  we  shall  lose  all  the  sight. 


70  airs?  Mell  t^at  entisf  Mell  Act  iii 

Dia.   They  say  the   French  count  has   done  most 
honourable  service. 

Wid.    It  is  reported  that  he  has  taken  their  great'st       5 
commander  ;    and  that  with  his  own  hand  he 
slew  the  Duke's  brother.     [Tucket.]     We  have 
lost  our  labour  ;  they  are  gone  a  contrary  way. 
Hark  !   you  may  know  by  their  trumpets. 

Mar.    Come,  let's  return  again,  and  suffice  our-      10 
selves  with  the  report  of  it.     Well,  Diana,  take 
heed  of  this  French  earl.     The  honour  of  a 
maid  is  her  name,  and  no  legacy  is  so  rich  as 
honesty. 

Wid.    I  have  told  my  neighbour  how  you  have  been      15 
solicited  by  a  gentleman  his  companion. 

Mar.  I  know  that  knave,  hang  him  !  one  Parolles  ; 
a  filthy  officer  he  is  in  those  suggestions  for  the 
young  earl.  Beware  of  them,  Diana  ;  their 
promises,  enticements,  oaths,  tokens,  and  all  20 
these  engines  of  lust,  are  not  the  things  they 
go  under.  Many  a  maid  hath  been  seduced 
by  them  ;  and  the  misery  is,  example,  that  so 
terrible  shows  in  the  wreck  of  maidenhood,  can- 
not for  all  that  dissuade  succession,  but  that  25 
they  are  limed  with  the  twigs  that  threatens 
them.  I  hope  I  need  not  to  advise  you  fur- 
ther ;  but  I  hope  your  own  grace  will  keep  you 
where  you  are,  though  there  were  no  further 
danger  known  but  the  modesty  which  is  so  lost.     30 


Sc.  V      airsf  Mell  t^at  d^nOfif  OTell         71 

Z)ia.   You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me. 

Enter  Helena  [disguised  like  a  Pilgrim]. 

Wid.    I  hope  so.     Look,  here  comes  a  pilgrim.     I 

know  she  will  lie  at  my  house  ;    thither  they 

send   one   another.     I'll   question   her.     God      35 

save  you,  pilgrim  !  whither  are  you  bound  .' 
Hel.   To  Saint  Jaques  le  Grand. 

"WTiere  do  the  palmers  lodge,  I  do  beseech  you  ? 
Wid.   At  the  Saint  Francis  here  beside  the  port. 
Hel.    Is  this  the  way  ?  A  march  afar.     40 

Wid.   Ay,  marry,  is't.     Hark  you  !  they  come  this  way. 

If  you  will  tarry,  holy  pilgrim. 

But  till  the  troops  come  by, 

I  will  conduct  you  where  you  shall  be  lodg'd  ; 

The  rather,  for  I  think  I  know  your  hostess         45 

As  ample  as  myself. 
Hel.  Is  it  yourself  ? 

Wid.    If  you  shall  please  so,  pilgrim. 
Hel.   I  thank  you,  and  will  stay  upon  your  leisure. 
Wid.  You  came,  I  think,  from  France  ? 
Hel.  I  did  so. 

Wid.   Here  you  shall  see  a  countryman  of  yours         50 

That  has  done  worthy  service. 
Hel.  His  name,  I  pray  you. 

Dia.   The  Count  Rousillon.     Know  you  such  a  one  ? 
Hel.   But  by  the  ear,  that  hears  most  nobly  of  him. 

His  face  I  know  not. 


72  au^fi?  Mell  t^at  CnD^  mt\X  Act  iii 

Z)io.  Whatsome'er  he  is. 

He's  bravely  taken  here.  He  stole  from  France, 
As  'tis  reported,  for  the  King  had  married  him  56 
Against  his  liking.     Think  you  it  is  so  ? 

Hel.   Ay,  surely,  mere  the  truth.     I  know  his  lady. 

Dia.    There  is  a  gentleman  that  serves  the  Count 
Reports  but  coarsely  of  her. 

HeL  What's  his  name  ?  60 

Dia.   Monsieur  ParoUes. 

Hel.  O,  I  believe  with  him. 

In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  the  worth 
Of  the  great  Count  himself,  she  is  too  mean 
To  have  her  name  repeated.     All  her  deserving 
Is  a  reserved  honesty,  and  that  65 

I  have  not  heard  examin'd. 

Dia.  Alas,  poor  lady  ! 

'Tis  a  hard  bondage  to  become  the  wife 
Of  a  detesting  lord. 

Wid.   Ay,  right !     Good  creature,  wheresoe'er  she  is, 
Her  heart  weighs  sadly.     This  young  maid  might 
do  her  70 

A  shrewd  turn,  if  she  pleas'd. 

Hel.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

May  be  the  amorous  Count  solicits  her 
In  the  unlawful  purpose. 

Wid.  He  does  indeed  ; 

And  brokes  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit 
Corrupt  the  tender  honour  of  a  maid.  75 


Sc.  V     aiP0  Well  t\)Rt  entiflf  mtll         73 

But  she  is  arm'd  for  him  and  keeps  her  guard 
In  honestest  defence. 

Drum  and  colours.     Enter  Bertram,  Parolles,    and   the 
whole  army. 

Mar.  The  gods  forbid  else  ! 

Wid.    So,  now  they  come. 

That  is  Antonio,  the  Duke's  eldest  son  ; 

That,  Escalus. 
Hel.  ^Tiich  is  the  Frenchman  ? 

Dia.  He, 

That  with  the  plume  ;  'tis  a  most  gallant  fellow.  81 

I  would  he  lov'd  his  wife.     If  he  were  honester 

He  were  much  goodlier.     Is't   not   a   handsome 
gentleman  ? 
Hel.    I  like  him  well. 

Dia.   'Tis  pity  he  is  not  honest.     Yond's  that  same 
knave  85 

That  leads  him  to  these  places.     Were  I  his  lady, 

I  would  poison  that  vile  rascal. 
Hel.  AVhich  is  he  ? 

Dia.   That  jack-an-apes  with  scarfs.     Why  is  he 

melancholy  ? 
Hel.   Perchance  he's  hurt  i'  the  battle.  90 

Par.   Lose  our  drum  !     Well. 
Mar.   He's  shrewdly  vex'd  at  something.     Look, 

he  has  spied  us. 
Wid.    Marry,  hang  you  ! 


74         aU's;  Mell  tt)at  C-nUg  Well    Act  iii 

Mar.   And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring-carrier  !  95 

Exeunt  [Bertram,  Parolles,  and  army]. 
Wid.   The  troop  is  past.     Come,  pilgrim,  I  will  bring 
you 
Where  you  shall  host.     Of  enjoin'd  penitents 
There's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaques  bound. 
Already  at  my  house. 
Hel.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

Please  it  this  matron  and  this  gentle  maid  100 

To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge  and  thanking 
Shall  be  for  me  ;   and,  to  requite  you  further, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  of  this  virgin 
Worthy  the  note. 
Both.  We'll   take  your  offer  kindly. 

Exeunt. 
SCENE  VI 

[Camp  herfore  Florence.] 

Enter  Bertram  and  the  French  Lords,  as  at  first. 

1.  Lord.   Nay,  good   my  lord,  put   him  to't ;    let 

him  have  his  way. 

2.  Lord.    If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a  hilding, 

hold  me  no  more  in  your  respect. 
1.  Lord.   On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 
Ber.   Do  you  think  I  am  so  far  deceived  in  him  ? 
1.  Lord.   Believe  it,  my  lord,  in  mine  own  direct 

knowledge,  without  any  malice,  but  to  speak 


Sc.  VI     ail*fl;  mtW  t^at  (IEnO0  Mell         75 

of  him  as  my  kinsman,  he's  a  most  notable 
coward,  an  infinite  and  endless  liar,  an  hourly      10 
promise-breaker,  the  owner  of  no  one  good 
quality  worthy  your  lordship's  entertainment. 

S.  Lord.    It  were  fit  you  knew  him,  lest,  reposing 
too  far  in  his  virtue,  which  he  hath  not,  he 
mif^ht  at  some  great  and  trusty  business  in  a     15 
main  danger  fail  you. 

Ber.    I  would  I  knew  in  what  particular  action  to 
try  him. 

S.  Lord.   None  better  than  to  let  him  fetch  off  his 

drum,   which   you   hear   him   so   confidently     20 
undertake  to  do. 

1.  Lord.  I,  with  a  troop  of  Florentines,  will  sud- 
denly surprise  him  ;  such  I  will  have,  whom  I 
am  sure  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy.  We  will 
bind  and  hoodwink  him  so,  that  he  shall  25 
suppose  no  other  but  that  he  is  carried  into 
the  leaguer  of  the  adversaries,  when  we  bring 
him  to  our  own  tents.  Be  but  your  lordship 
present  at  his  examination  ;  if  he  do  not,  for 
the  promise  of  his  life  and  in  the  highest  com-  30 
pulsion  of  base  fear,  offer  to  betray  you  and 
deliver  all  the  intelligence  in  his  power  against 
you,  and  that  with  the  divine  forfeit  of  his 
soul  upon  oath,  never  trust  my  judgement  in 
anything.  35 

S.  Lord.   O,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him  fetch 


76         aiVfif  «ell  t^at  enDfif  Mell    Act  iii 

his  drum ;  he  says  he  has  a  stratagem  for't. 
When  your  lordship  sees  the  bottom  of  his  suc- 
cess in't,  and  to  what  metal  this  counterfeit 
lump  of  ore  will  be  melted,  if  you  give  him  not  40 
John  Drum's  entertainment,  your  inclining 
cannot  be  removed.     Here  he  comes. 

Enter  Parolles. 

1.  Lord.   [Aside    to    Ber.]      O,    for    the    love    of 

laughter,  hinder  not  the  honour  of  his  design. 
Let  him  fetch  off  his  drum  in  any  hand.  45 

Ber.  How  now,  monsieur  !  this  drum  sticks  sorely 
in  your  disposition. 

2.  Lord.   A    pox    on't,    let    it    go ;     'tis     but    a 

drum. 
Par.   "But  a   drum"!    is't  "but   a   drum".?     A     50 
drum  so  lost !     There  was  excellent  command, 
—  to  charge  in  with  our  horse  upon  our  own 
wings,  and  to  rend  our  own  soldiers  ! 

3.  Lord.   That  was  not  to  be  blam'd  in  the  com- 

mand of  the  service  ;   it  was  a  disaster  of  war     55 
that  Csesar  himself  could  not  have  prevented, 
if  he  had  been  there  to  command. 

Ber.  Well,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our  suc- 
cess. Some  dishonour  we  had  in  the  loss  of 
that  drum  ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  recovered.  60 

Par.    It  might  have  been  recovered. 

Ber.   It  might ;  but  it  is  not  now. 


sc.  VI   aU'0  Mell  t^at  enli0  Mell  77 

Par.    It  is  to  be  recovered.     But  that  the  merit 
of  service  is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and 
exact  performer,  I  would  have  that  drum  or     Q5 
another,  or  "hicjacetJ' 

Ber.  Why,  if  you  have  a  stomach,  to't,  monsieur  : 
if  you  think  your  mystery  in  stratagem  can 
bring  this  instrument  of  honour  again  into  his 
native  quarter,  be  magnanimous  in  the  en-  70 
terprise  and  go  on  ;  I  will  grace  the  attempt 
for  a  worthy  exploit.  If  you  speed  well  in  it, 
the  Duke  shall  both  speak  of  it,  and  extend  to 
you  what  further  becomes  his  greatness,  even 
to  the  utmost  syllable  of  your  worthiness.  75 

Par.  By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  undertake 
it. 

Ber.   But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  it. 

Par.    I'll  about  it  this  evening  ;    and  I  will  pres- 
ently pen  down  my  dilemmas,  encourage  myself     80 
in  my  certainty,  put  myself  into  my  mortal 
preparation ;    and  by  midnight  look  to  hear 
further  from  me. 

Ber.  May  I  be  bold  to  acquaint  his  Grace  you  are 

gone  about  it  ?  85 

Par.  I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my  lord  ; 
but  the  attempt  I  vow. 

Ber.  1  know  thou'rt  valiant ;  and,  to  the  possi- 
bility of  thy  soldiership,  will  subscribe  for 
thee.     Farewell.  90 


78  2U'0  Mell  tljat  enDs?  mtll   Act  iii 

Par.    I  love  not  many  words.  Exit. 

1.  Lord.   No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water.     Is  not 

this  a  strange  fellow,  my  lord,  that  so  confi- 
dently seems  to  undertake  this  business,  which 
he  knows  is  not  to  be  done  ;  damns  himself  to     95 
do,  and  dares  better  be  damn'd  than  to  do't  ? 

2.  Lord.   You  do  not  know  him,  my  lord,  as  we 

do.  Certain  it  is,  that  he  will  steal  himself 
into  a  man's  favour  and  for  a  week  escape  a 
great  deal  of  discoveries  ;  but  when  you  find  100 
him  out,  you  have  him  ever  after. 
Ber.  WTiy,  do  you  think  he  will  make  no  deed  at 
all  of  this  that  so  seriously  he  does  address  him- 
self unto .' 

1.  Lord.   None  in  the  world  ;    but  return  with  an    105 

invention  and  clap  upon  you  two  or  three  prob- 
able lies.  But  we  have  almost  emboss'd  him  ; 
you  shall  see  his  fall  to-night ;  for  indeed  he 
is  not  for  your  lordship's  respect. 

2.  Lord.   We'll  make  you  some  sport  with  the  fox   110 

ere  we  case  him.  He  was  first  smok'd  by  the 
old  lord  Lafeu.  When  his  disguise  and  he  is 
parted,  tell  me  what  a  sprat  you  shall  find  him  ; 
which  you  shall  see  this  very  night.  114 

1.  Lord.    I  must  go  look  my  twigs.    He  shall  be  caught. 
Ber.    Your  brother  he  shall  go  along  with  me. 

2.  Lord.   As't  please  your  lordship.     I'll  leave  you. 

[Exit.] 


Sc.  VII  2i\V&  Witll  ttiat  (Enti0  Witll         79 

Ber.   Now  will  I  lead  you  to  the  house,  and  show  you 

The  lass  I  spoke  of. 
1.  Lord.  But  you  say  she's  honest. 

Ber.   That's  all  the  fault.     I  spoke  with  her  but  once 

And   found   her   wondrous    cold ;   but    I   sent   to 
her,  121 

By  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  have  i'  the  wind, 

Tokens  and  letters  which  she  did  re-send ; 

And  this  is  all  I  have  done.     She's  a  fair  creature  : 

Will  you  go  see  her  ? 
1.  Lord.  With  all  my  heart,  my  lord.  125 

Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII 

[Florence.     The  Widow's  house.] 
Enter  Helena  and  Widow. 

Hel.    If  you  misdoubt  me  that  I  am  not  she, 
I  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  further. 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  I  work  upon. 

Wid.   Though  my  estate  be  fallen,  I  was  well  born, 
Nothing  acquainted  with  these  businesses,  5 

And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 
In  any  staining  act. 

Hel.  Nor  would  I  wish  you. 

First,  give  me  trust,  the  Count  he  is  my  husband  ; 
And  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  spoken 
Is  so  from  word  to  word  ;  and  then  you  cannot,  10 


8o         aiP^  Witll  t\)nt  enrjs;  Mell  Act  in 

Bj^  the  good  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow, 
Err  in  bestowing  it. 

Wid.  I  should  believe  you  ; 

For  you  have  show'd  me  that  which  well  approves 
You're  great  in  fortune. 

Hel.  Take  this  purse  of  gold. 

And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far,         15 
Which  I  will  over-pay  and  pay  again 
When  I  have  found  it.     The  Count  he  wooes  your 

daughter, 
Laj's  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty. 
Resolves  to  carry  her.     Let  her,  in  fine,  consent 
As  we'll  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it.  20 

Now  his  important  blood  will  nought  deny 
That  she'll  demand.     A  ring  the  County  wears, 
That  downward  hath  succeeded  in  his  house 
From  son  to  son,  some  four  or  five  descents 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it.     This  ring  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice  ;   yet  in  his  idle  fire,  26 

To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
Howe'er  repented  after. 

Wid.  Now  I  see 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

Hel.   You  see  it  lawful,  then.     It  is  no  more  30 

But  that  your  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  won. 
Desires  this  ring  ;   appoints  him  an  encounter  ; 
In  fine,  delivers  me  to  fill  the  time. 
Herself  most  chastely  absent.     After  this. 


Sc.  VII   m*^  «ell  t^at  entisf  Mrll         Si 

To  marry  her,  I'll  add  three  thousand  crowns     35 
To  what  is  past  already. 

Wid.  I  have  yielded. 

Instruct  my  daughter  how  she  shall  persever. 
That  time  and  place  with  this  deceit  so  lawful 
May  prove  coherent.     Every  night  he  comes 
With  musics  of  all  sorts  and  songs  compos'd       40 
To  her  unworthiness.     It  nothing  steads  us 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves,  for  he  persists 
As  if  his  life  lay  on't. 

Hel.  Why  then  to-night 

Let  us  assay  our  plot ;   which,  if  it  speed. 
Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed  45 

And  lawful  meaning  in  a  lawful  act, 
WTiere  both  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact. 
But  let's  about  it.  [Exeunt.] 


ACT     FOURTH 
Scene  1 

[Without  the  Florentine  camp  J] 

Enter  First  French  Lord,  with  five  or  six  other  Soldiers 
in  ambush. 

1.  Lord.  He  can  come  no  other  way  but  by  this 
hedge-corner.  WTien  you  sally  upon  him, 
speak  what  terrible  language  you  will. 
Though  you  understand  it  not  yourselves,  no 
matter  ;  for  we  must  not  seem  to  understand  5 
him,  unless  some  one  among  us,  whom  we  must 
produce  for  an  interpreter. 

1.  Sold.    Good    captain,     let   me    be    the     inter- 
preter. 

1.  Lord.   Art   not   acquainted  with  him  .^     Knows     10 
he  not  thy  voice  ? 

1.  Sold.    No,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 

1.  Lord.   But   what   linsey-woolsey   hast   thou   to 
speak  to  us  again  ? 

1.  Sold.   E'en  such  as  you  speak  to  me.  15 

1.  Lord.    He  must  think  us  some  band  of  strangers 

i'    the    adversary's    entertainment.     Now    he 

hath  a  smack  of  all  neighbouring  languages, 

therefore  we  must  every  one  be  a  man  of  his 

8a 


Sc.  I       ail'0  WitW  tliat  CnD0  OTell  83 

own  fancy  ;  not  to  know  what  we  speak  one  to  20 
another,  so  we  seem  to  know,  is  to  know  straight 
our  purpose :  choughs'  language,  gabble 
enough,  and  good  enough.  As  for  you,  inter- 
preter, you  must  seem  very  politic.  But  couch, 
ho  !  here  he  comes,  to  beguile  two  hours  in  a  sleep,  25 
and  then  to  return  and  swear  the  lies  he  forges. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Ten  o'clock  :  within  these  three  hours  'twill 
be  time  enough  to  go  home.  \^Tiat  shall  I  say 
I  have  done  ?  It  must  be  a  very  plausive  in- 
vention that  carries  it.  They  begin  to  smoke  30 
me,  and  disgraces  have  of  late  knock'd  too  often 
at  my  door.  I  find  my  tongue  is  too  fool- 
hardy;  but  my  heart  hath  the  fear  of  Mars 
before  it  and  of  his  creatures,  not  daring  the 
reports  of  my  tongue. 

1.  Lord.    [Aside,    in    ambush.]      This    is    the    first     35 
truth  that  e'er  thine  own  tongue  was  guilty  of. 

Par.  WTiat  the  devil  should  move  me  to  undertake 
the  recovery  of  this  drum,  being  not  ignorant  of 
the  impossibility,  and  knowing  I  had  no  such 
purpose  .'*  I  must  give  myself  some  hurts,  40 
and  say  I  got  them  in  exploit.  Yet  slight 
ones  will  not  carry  it.  They  will  say,  "Came 
you  ofiP  with  so  little?"  And  great  ones  I 
dare  not  give.    Wherefore,  what's  the  instance  .''     45 


84         aiU'0  Witil  t^at  €nt$  Mell    Act  iv 

Tongue,  I  must  put  you  into  a  butter-woman's 

mouth  and  buy  myself  another  of  Bajazet's 

mule,  if  you  prattle  me  into  these  perils. 
1.  Lord.    Is  it  possible  he  should  know  what  he  is, 

and  be  that  he  is  ? 
Par.    I  would  the  cutting  of  my  garments  would      50 

serve  the  turn,  or  the  breaking  of  my  Spanish 

sword. 
1.  Lord.   We  cannot  afiFord  you  so. 
Par.   Or  the  baring  of  my  beard  ;    and  to  say  it 

was  in  stratagem.  55 

1.  Lord.    'Twould  not  do. 
Par.  Or   to   drown   my   clothes,   and   say   I   was 

stripp'd. 
1.  Lord.   Hardly  serve. 
Par.   Though  I  swore  I  leap'd  from  the  window  of     60 

the  citadel  — 
1.  Lord.   How  deep  ? 
Par.   Thirty  fathom. 
1.  Lord.   Three   great   oaths   would   scarce    make 

that  be  believed.  65 

Par.    I  would  I  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's.     I 

would  swear  I  recover'd  it. 
1.  Lord.    You  shall  hear  one  anon. 
Par.   A  drum  now  of  the  enemy's,  — 

Alarum  within. 
1.  Lord.    Throca     inovousus,      cargo,      cargo,     car-     70 

go. 


Sc.  I       ail*0  OTell  t^at  enDfl?  Mell         85 

All.  Cargo,  cargo,  cargo,  villianda  par  corho, 
cargo. 

Par.   O,  ransom,  ransom  !   do  not  hide  mine  eyes. 

[They  seize  and  blindfold  him.] 

1.  Sold.    Bosko  thromuldo  boskos.  75 

Par.  I  know  you  are  the  Muskos'  regiment, 
And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  language. 
If  there  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  Dutch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me;  I'll 
Discover  that  which  shall  undo  the  Florentine.      80 

1.  Sold.  Boskos  vauvado:  I  understand  thee,  and 
can  speak  thy  tongue.  Kerelybonto,  sir,  betake 
thee  to  thy  faith,  for  seventeen  poniards  are  at 
thy  bosom. 

Par.    O!  85 

1.  Sold.  O,  pray,  pray,  pray !  Manka  revania 
dulche. 

1.  Lord.    OscorbididcJios  volivorco. 

1.  Sold.   The  general  is  content  to  spare  thee  yet ; 

And,  hoodwink'd  as  thou  art,  will  lead  thee  on     90 
To  gather  from  thee.     Haply  thou  mayst  inform 
Something  to  save  thy  life. 

Par.  0,  let  me  live  ! 

And  all  the  secrets  of  our  camp  I'll  show. 
Their  force,  their  purposes  ;  nay.  I'll  speak  that  94 
Which  you  will  wonder  at. 

1.  Sold.  But  wilt  thou  faithfully  ? 

Par.    If  I  do  not,  damn  me. 


86         air0  OTell  tljat  enUg  Witll    Act  iv 

1.  Sold.   Acordo  linta. 

Come  on  ;  thou  art  granted  space. 

Exit  [with  Parolles  guarded].     A  short  alarum 
within. 

1.  Lord.   Go,  tell  the  Count  Rousillon,  and  my  brother, 

We  have  caught  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep  him 
muffled  100 

Till  we  do  hear  from  them. 

2.  Sold.  Captain,  I  will. 

1.  Lord.    'A  will  betray  us  all  unto  ourselves  : 

Inform  on  that. 

2.  Sold.   So  I  will,  sir.  104 
1.  Lord.   Till  then  I'll  keep  him  dark  and  safely  lock'd. 

Exeunt. 

Scene  11 

[Florence.     The  Widow's  house.] 
Enter  Bertram  and  the  maid  called  Diana. 

Ber.   They  told  me  that  your  name  was  Fontibell. 

Dia.    No,  my  good  lord,  Diana. 

Ber.  Titled  goddess. 

And  worth  it.  with  addition  !     But,  fair  soul. 
In  your  fine  frame  hath  love  no  quality  ? 
If  the  quick  fire  of  youth  light  not  your  mind,      5 
You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  monument. 
When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 
As  you  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stern ; 


sc.  II   aii'0  mtw  t^at  enD0  witw       87 

And  now  you  should  be  as  your  mother  was 
When  your  sweet  self  was  got.  10 

Dia.   She  then  was  honest. 

Ber.  So  should  you  be. 

Dia.  No ; 

My  mother  did  but  duty  ;   such,  my  lord, 
As  you  owe  to  your  wife. 

Ber.  No  more  o'  that. 

I  prithee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows. 
I  was  compell'd  to  her  ;   but  I  love  thee  15 

By  love's  own  sweet  constraint,  and  will  for  ever 
Do  thee  all  rights  of  service. 

Dia.  Ay,  so  you  serve  us 

Till  we  serve  you ;  but  when  you  have  our  roses, 
You  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves. 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 

Ber.    ^  How  have  I  sworn  ! 

Dia.  ^'Tis  not  the  many  oaths  that  makes  the  truth,  21 
But  the  plain  single  vow  that  is  vow'd  tru^ 
WTiat  is  not  holy,  that  we  swear  not  by. 
But  take  the  High'st  to  witness ;   then,  pray  you, 

tell  me, 
If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes         25 
I  lov'd  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths. 
When  I  did  love  you  ill  ?    This  has  no  holding. 
To  swear  by  Him  whom  I  protest  to  love, 
That  I  will  work  against  Him ;    therefore  your 
oaths 


88         airs;  OTell  tljat  €nnsi  «ell    Act  iv 

Are  words  and  poor  conditions,  but  unseal'd,       30 
At  least  in  my  opinion. 

Ber.  Change  it,  change  it ! 

Be  not  so  holy-cruel.     Love  is  holy. 
And  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts 
That  you  do  charge  men  with.     Stand  no  more  off. 
But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires,  35 

Who  then  recovers.     Say  thou  art  mine,  and  ever 
My  love  as  it  begins  shall  so  persever. 

Dia.    I  see  that  men  make  rope's  in  such  a  scarre 

That  we'll  forsake  ourselves.     Give  me  that  ring. 

Ber.    I'll  lend  it  thee,  my  dear  ;  but  have  no  power       40 
To  give  it  from  me. 

Dia.  Will  you  not,  my  lord  ? 

Ber.    It  is  an  honour  longing  to  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors, 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

Dia.  Mine  honour 's  such  a  ring,  45 

My  chastity's  the  jewel  of  our  house. 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors, 
\Vhich  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose.     Thus  your  own  proper  wisdom 
Brings  in  the  champion  Honour  on  my  part,       50 
Against  your  vain  assault. 

Ber.  Here,  take  my  ring  ! 

My  house,  mine  honour,  yea,  my  life,  be  thine. 
And  I'll  be  bid  by  thee. 


Sc.  II     ail'fif  WSSitil  t\)U  CBnDsf  Witll  89 

Dia.   ^\lien  midnight  comes,  knock  at  my  chamber- 
window. 
I'll  order  take  my  mother  shall  not  hear.  55 

Now  will  I  charge  you  in  the  band  of  truth, 
When  you  have  conquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed, 
Remain  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me. 
My  reasons  are  most  strong,  and  you  shall  know 

them 
When  back  again  this  ring  shall  be  deliver'd  ;       60 
And  on  your  finger  in  the  night  I'll  put 
Another  ring,  that  what  in  time  proceeds 
May  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 
Adieu,  till  then  ;   then,  fail  not.     You  have  won 
A  wife  of  me,  though  there  my  hope  be  done.      65 

Ber.   A  heaven  on  earth  I  have  won  by  wooing  thee. 

[Exit] 

Dia.   For  which  live  long  to  thank  both  Heaven  and 


me 


You  may  so  in  the  end. 

My  mother  told  me  just  how  he  would  woo. 

As  if  she  sat  in  's  heart.     She  says  all  men  70 

Have  the  like  oaths.     He  had  sworn  to  marry  me 

When  his  wife's  dead ;  therefore  I'll  lie  with  him 

"VMien    I    am    buried.     Since    Frenchmen   are    so 

braid. 
Marry  that  will,  I  live  and  die  a  maid. 
Only  in  this  disguise  I  think't  no  sin  75 

To  cozen  him  that  would  unjustly  win.  Exit, 


90       airfif  wntii  tijat  C'ttus?  mdi  Act  iv 

Scene  III 

[The  Florentine  camp.] 

Enter  the  two  French  Lords  and  some  two  or  three  Sol- 
diers. 

2.  Lord.  You  have  not  given   him  his  mother's 
letter  ? 

1.  Lord.    I  have  deliver'd  it  an  hour  since.     There 

is  something  in't  that  stings  his  nature  ;  for  on 
the  reading  it  he  chang'd  almost  into  another       5 
man. 

2.  Lord.   He  has  much  worthy  blame  laid  upon  him 

for  shaking  off  so  good  a  wife  and  so  sweet  a 
lady. 

1.  Lord.   Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  everlast-     10 
ing  displeasure  of  the  King,  who  had  even 
tun'd  his  bounty  to  sing  happiness  to  him.     I 
will  tell  you  a  thing,  but  you  shall  let  it  dwell 
darkly  with  you. 

^.  Lord.   When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead,  and     15 
I  am  the  grave  of  it. 

i.  Lord.  He  hath  perverted  a  young  gentle- 
woman here  in  Florence,  of  a  most  chaste  re- 
noTvn  ;  and  this  night  he  fleshes  his  will  in  the 
spoil  of  her  honour.  He  hath  given  her  his  20 
monumental  ring,  and  thinks  himself  made  in 
the  unchaste  composition. 


Sc.  Ill    aU'0  Well  t^at  enUfif  Witll         91 

S.  Lord.  Now,  God  delay  our  rebellion  !  As  we  are 
ourselves,  what  things  are  we  ! 

1.  Lord.  Merely  our  own  traitors.  And  as  in  the  25 
common  course  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see 
them  reveal  themselves,  till  they  attain  to 
their  abhorr'd  ends,  so  he  that  in  this  action 
contrives  against  his  own  nobility,  in  his  proper 
stream  o'erflows  himself.  30 

3.  Lord.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable  in  us,  to  be 
trumpeters  of  our  unlawful  intents  .'  We  shall 
not  then  have  his  company  to-night  ? 

1.  Lord.   Not  till  after  midnight ;   for  he  is  dieted 

to  his  hour.  35 

2.  Lord.   That  approaches  apace.     I  would  gladly 

have  him  see  his  company  anatomiz'd,  that  he 
might  take  a  measure  of  his  own  judgements, 
wherein  so  curiously  he  had  set  this  counter- 
feit. 40 

1.  Lord.   We  will  not  meddle  with  him    till    he 

come,  for  his  presence  must  be  the  whip  of  the 
other. 

2.  Lord.    In  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you  of  these 

wars  ?  45 

1.  Lord.    I  hear  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

2.  Lord.     Nay,    I     assure     you,    a     peace    con- 

cluded. 
1.  Lord.   WTiat   will    Count   Rousillon    do    then? 

Will  he  travel  higher,  or  return  again    into     50 
France '? 


93  airs?  Mell  t^at  (BnDs?  Mell  Act  iv 

^.  Lore?.    I  perceive,  by  this  demand,  you  are  not 
altogether  of  his  council. 

1.  Lord.   Let  it  be  forbid,  sir ;    so  should  I  be  a 

great  deal  of  his  act.  .  55 

2.  Lord.    Sir,  his  wife  some  two  months  since  fled 

from  his  house.  Her  pretence  is  a  pilgrimage 
to  Saint  Jaques  le  Grand  ;  which  holy  under- 
taking with  most  austere  sanctimony  she  ac- 
complish'd  ;  and,  there  residing,  the  tender-  60 
ness  of  her  nature  became  as  a  prey  to  her 
grief ;  in  fine,  made  a  groan  of  her  last  breath, 
and  now  she  sings  in  heaven. 

1.  Lord.     How  is  this  justified  ? 

2.  Lord.    The    stronger   part    of    it    by  her   own     65 

letters,  which  makes  her  story  true,  even  to  the 
point  of  her  death.  Her  death  itself,  which 
could  not  be  her  office  to  say  is  come,  was  faith- 
fully confirm'd  by  the  rector  of  the  place. 

1.  Lord.    Hath  the  Count  all  this  intelligence  .''  70 

2.  Lord.    Ay,    and    the    particular    confirmations, 

point  from  point,  to  the  full  arming  of  the 
verity. 

1.  Lord.    I  am  heartily  sorry  that  he'll  be  glad 

of  this.  75 

2.  Lord.   How   mightily   sometimes   we    make    us 

comforts  of  our  losses  ! 
1.  Lord.   And  how  mightily  some  other  times  we 
drown  our  gain  in  tears  !  The  great  dignity  that 


Sc.  Ill    all's?  OTell  t^at  C^uDs  Mell         93 

his  valour  hath  here  acquir'd  for  him  shall  at  80 
honLe  be  encount'red  with  a  shame  as  ample. 
2.  Lore/,  \jrhe  web  of  om-  Hfe  is  of  a  mingled 
yarn,  good  and  ill  together  :  om*  virtues  would 
be  proud,  if  our  faults  whipp'd  them  not ;  and 
our  crimes  would  despair,  if  they  were  not  85 
cherish'd  by  our  virtues^^ 

Enter  a  Messenger, 

How  now  !  where's  your  master  ? 
Mess.     He  met  the  Duke  in  the  street,  sir,  of 
w^hom  he  hath  taken  a  solemn   leave.     His 
lordship  will  next  morning  for  France.     The     90 
Duke  hath  offered  him  letters  of  commenda- 
tions to  the  King. 

1.  Lord.   They  shall  be  no  more  than  needful  there, 

if  they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 

Enter  Bertram. 

2.  Lord.    They    cannot    be    too    sweet    for    the     95 

King's  tartness.  Here's  his  lordship  now. 
How  now,  my  lord  !  is't  not  after  midnight  ? 
Ber.  I  have  to-night  dispatch'd  sixteen  busi- 
nesses, a  month's  length  a-piece,  by  an  abstract 
of  success.  I  have  congied  with  the  Duke,  100 
done  my  adieu  with  his  nearest;  buried  a 
wife,  mourn'd  for  her ;  writ  to  my  lady  mother 
I  am  returning ;  entertain'd  my  convoy ;  and 


94  3U'sf  Mell  tl)at  eni30  Mril   Act  iv 

between  these  main  parcels  of  dispatch  effected 
many  nicer  needs.     The  last  was  the  greatest,    105 
but  that  I  have  not  ended  yet. 

1.  Lord.  If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty, 
and  this  morning  your  departure  hence,  it  re- 
quires haste  of  your  lordship. 

Ber.  I  mean,  the  business  is  not  ended,  as  110 
fearing  to  hear  of  it  hereafter.  But  shall  we 
have  this  dialogue  between  the  fool  and  the 
soldier  ^  Come,  bring  forth  this  counterfeit 
module,  has  deceiv'd  me,  like  a  double-mean- 
ing prophesier.  115 

1.  Lord.  Bring  him  forth.  Has  sat  i*  the 
stocks  all  night,  poor  gallant  knave. 

Ber.  No  matter;  his  heels  have  deserv'd  it, 
in  usurping  his  spurs  so  long.  How  does  he 
carry  himself.'^  120 

1.  Lord.  I  have  told  your  lordship  already, 
the  stocks  carry  him.  But  to  answer  you  as 
you  would  be  understood,  he  weeps  like  a 
wench  that  had  shed  her  milk.  He  hath  con- 
fess'd  himself  to  Morgan,  whom  he  supposes  to  125 
be  a  friar,  from  the  time  of  his  remembrance 
to  this  very  instant  disaster  of  his  setting  i'  the 
stocks  ;  and  what  think  you  he  hath  confess'd  ? 

Ber.   Nothing  of  me,  has  'a  ? 

1.  Lord.   His  confession  is  taken,  and  it  shall  be   130 
read  to  his  face.     If  your  lordship  be  in't,  as 


Sc.  Ill    airsf  Mell  ttjat  CEnDfli  Mell         95 

I  believe  you  are,  you  must  have  the  patience 
to  hear  it. 

Enter  Parolles  mth  [First  Soldier  as]  his  Interpreter. 

Ber.  A  plague    upon    him !     Muffled !     He    can 

say  nothing  of  me.     Hush  !  hush  !  135 

5.  Lord.   Hoodman  comes  !     Portotartarossa. 

1.  Sold.  He  calls  for  the  tortures.  What  will 
you  say  without  'em  ? 

Par.  I  will   confess  what    I   know  without    con- 
straint.    If  ye  pinch  me  like  a  pasty,  I  can   140 
say  no  more. 

1.  Sold.   Bosko  chimurco. 

2.  Lord.  Bohlihindo  chicurmurco. 

1.  Sold.  You  are   a   merciful  general.     Our  gen- 
eral bids  you  answer  to  what  I  shall  ask  you   145 
out  of  a  note. 

Par.    And  truly,  as  I  hope  to  live. 

1.  Sold.  [Reads.]  "First  demand  of  him  how 
many  horse  the  Duke  is  strong."  What 
say  you  to  that  ?  150 

Par.  Five  or  sLx  thousand ;  but  very  weak  and 
unserviceable.  The  troops  are  all  scattered, 
and  the  commanders  very  poor  rogues,  upon 
my  reputation  and  credit  and  as  I  hope  to  live. 

1.  Sold.     Shall  I  set  down  your  answer  so.''  155 

Par.  Do :  I'll  take  the  sacrament  on't,  how 
and  which  way  you  will. 


96        ail'sf  OTell  t^at  CBnDfi;  Mell    Act  iv 

5er.  All's  one  to  him.  "What  a  past-saving 
slave  is  this  ! 

2.  Lord.     You're     deceiv'd,     my     lord;      this     is    160 
Monsieur  Parolles,   the  gallant  militarist,  — 
that  was  liis  own  phase,  —  that  had  the  whole 
theoric  of  war  in  the  knot  of  his  scarf,  and  the 
practice  in  the  chape  of  his  dagger. 

1.  Lord.    I   will    never    trust    a    man    again    for   165 
keeping  his  sword  clean,  nor  believe  he  can 
have  everything  in  him  by  wearing  his  apparel 
neatly. 

1.  Sold,    Well,  that's  set  down. 

Par.    Five    or    six    thousand    horse,    I   said,  —  I   170 
w^ll  say  true,  —  or  thereabouts,  set  down,  for 
I'll  speak  truth. 

2.  Lord.    He's  very  near  the  truth  in  this. 

Ber.  But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for't,  in  the  na- 
ture he  delivers  it.  175 

Par.    Poor  rogues,  I  pray  you,  say. 

1.  Sold.    Well,  that's  set  down. 

Par.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir.  A  truth's  a 
truth;    the  rogues  are  marvellous  poor. 

1.  Sold.    [Reads.]    "Demand    of    him,     of    what   180 
strength  they  are  a-foot."     What  say  you  to 
that  ? 

Par.  By  my  troth,  sir,  if  I  were  to  live  this 
present  hour,  I  will  tell  true.  Let  me  see  :  — 
Spurio,  a  hundred  and  fifty ;    Sebastian,  so 


sc.  in     aU'fi!  Mfll  ttjat  CBnOfi?  WirW         97 


many ;  Corambus,  so  many  ;  Jaques,  so  many ;  185 
Guiltian,  Cosmo,  Lodowick,  and  Gratii, 
two  hundred  fifty  each;  mine  own  company, 
Chitopher,  Vaumond,  Bentii,  two  hundred 
fifty  each ;  so  that  the  muster-file,  rotten  and 
sound,  upon  my  life,  amounts  not  to  fifteen  190 
thousand  poll;  half  of  the  which  dare  not 
shake  the  snow  from  off  their  cassocks,  lest 
they  shake  themselves  to  pieces. 

Ber.     What  shall  be  done  to  him  ? 

2.  Lord.    Nothing,     but    let    him    have    thanks.    195 
Demand  of  him  my  condition,  and  what  credit 
I  have  with  the  Duke. 

1.  Sold.    Well,  that's  set  down. 

[Reads.]  "You    shall    demand    of     him,    whether 

one  Captain  Dumain  be  i'  the  camp,  a  French-   200 
man;     what    his     reputation     is    with    the 
Duke ;   what  his  valour,  honesty,  and  expert- 
ness  in  wars ;  or  whether  he  thinks  it  were  not 
possible,  with  well-weighing  sums  of  gold,  to     / 
corrupt  him  to  a  revolt."     What  say  you  to   205 
this  ?     What  do  you  know  of  it  ? 

Par.  I  beseech  you,  let  me  answer  to  the 
particular  of  the  inter'gatories.  Demand 
them  singly. 

1.  Sold.     Do  you  know  this  Captain  Dumain  ?  210 

Par.  I  know  him.  'A  was  a  botcher's  'prentice 
in   Paris,   from   whence  he   was   whipp'd  for 

H 


98  ^U'^  OTell  t\)Rt  enDg  WitW    Act  IV 

getting  the  shrieve's  fool  with  child,  — a  dumb 

innocent,  that  could  not  say  him  nay. 
Ber.    Nay,    by    your    leave,    hold    your    hands;    215 

though  I  know  his  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next 

tile  that  falls. 
1.  Sold.   Well,   is   this   captain  in    the    Duke    of 

Florence's  camp  ? 
Par.     Upon  my  knowledge,  he  is,  and  lousy.  220 

S.  Lord.   Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me  ;    we  shall  hear 

of  your  lordship  anon. 
1.  Sold.     ^Miat     is     his     reputation     with     the 

Duke  ? 
Par.    The    Duke   knows    him   for    no    other   but    225 

a  poor  officer  of  mine ;    and  writ  to  me  this 

other  day  to  turn  him  out  o'  the  band.  I  think 

I  have  his  letter  in  my  pocket. 
1.  Sold.    Marry,  we'll  search. 
Par.    In  good  sadness,    I   do   not   know.     Either   230 

it  is  there,  or  it  is  upon  a  file  with  the  Duke's 

other  letters  in  my  tent. 

1.  Sold.    Here 'tis;    here's  a  paper.     Shall  I  read 

it  to  you  ? 
Par.    I  do  not  know  if  it  be  it  or  no.  235 

Ber.     Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 

2.  Lord.    Excellently. 

1.  Sold.    [Reads.]    "Dian,    the    Count's    a    fool,    and 

full  of  gold,"  — 
Par.   That   is   not    the   Duke's    letter,  sir;    that 


sc.  Ill    au*0  «ell  tt)at  CnO0  mtW         99 

is    an    advertisement    to    a    proper   maid    in   240 
Florence,  one  Diana,  to  take  heed  of  the  al- 
Im^ement  of  one  Comit  Rousillon,  a  foolish  idle 
boy,  but  for  all  that  very  ruttish.     I  pray  you, 
sir,  put  it  up  again. 

1.  Sold.   Nay,  I'll  read  it  first,  by  your  favour.  245 

Par.  My  meaning  in't,  I  protest,  was  very 
honest  in  the  behalf  of  the  maid ;  for  I  knew 
the  young  Count  to  be  a  dangerous  and  lascivi- 
ous boy,  who  is  a  w^hale  to  virginity  and  de- 
vours up  all  the  fry  it  finds.  250 

Ber.    Damnable  both-sides  rogue  ! 

1.  Sold.     [Reads.] 

"When    he    swears    oaths,    bid    him    drop    gold, 
and  take  it ; 
After  he  scores,  he  never  pays  the  score. 
Half  won  is  match  well  made;    match,  and  well 

make  it : 

1     He  ne'er  pays  after-debts,  take  it  before;  255 
And  say  a  soldier,  Dian,  told  thee  this, 
Men  are  to  mell  with,  boys  are  not  to  kiss ; 
For  count  of  this,  the  Count's  a  fool,  I  know  it, 
Who  pays  before,  but  not  when  he  does  owe  it. 
Thine,  as  he  vow'd  to  thee  in  thine  ear,       260 

Parolles." 

Ber.   He  shall  be  whipp'd  through  the  army  with 
this  rhyme  in  's  forehead. 


loo         aU'0  WSSitli  t^at  (IBnD0  M^ll   Act  iv 

1.  Lord.  This  is  your  devoted  friend,  sir,  the 
manifold  linguist  and  the  armipotent  sol- 
dier. 265 

Ber.  I  could  endure  anything  before  but  a  cat; 
and  now  he's  a  cat  to  me. 

1.  Sold.  I  perceive,  sir,  by  our  general's  looks, 
we  shall  be  fain  to  hang  you. 

Par.     My  life,  sir,  in  any  case :    not  that  I  am   270 
afraid  to  die;     but  that,  my  offences  being 
many,  I  would  repent   out  the  remainder  of 
nature.     Let  me  live,  sir,  in  a  dungeon,  i'  the 
stocks,  or  anywhere,  so  I  may  live. 

1.  Sold.     We'll  see  what    may  be  done,   so    you   275 
confess  freely;    therefore,  once  more  to  this 
Captain  Dumain.     You  have  answer' d  to  his 
reputation  with  the  Duke,  and  to  his  valour; 
what  is  his  honesty  ? 
Par.     He  v\'ill  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  clois-    280 
ter.     For  rapes  and  ravishments  he  parallels 
Nessus.     He  professes  not  keeping  of  oaths ;  in 
breaking  'em  he  is  stronger  than  Hercules ;  he 
will  lie,  sir,  with  such  volubility,  that  you  would 
think  truth  were  a  fool.     Drunkenness  is  his   285 
best  virtue,  for  he  will  be  swine  drunk,  and 
in  his  sleep  he  does  little  harm,  save  to  his  bed- 
clothes about  him ;    but  they  know  his  condi- 
tions and  lay  him  in  straw.  I  have  but  little  more 
to  say,  sir,  of  his  honesty.     He  has  everything    290 


Sc.  Ill    airs'  Witii  t^at  CDnDs?  Mell         loi 

that  an  honest  man  should  not  have ;   what 
an  honest  man  should  have,   he  has  nothing. 

S.  Lord.    I  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

Ber.    For  this  description  of  thine  honesty  ?   A  pox 

upon  him  for  me,  he's  more  and  more  a  cat.    2^5 

1.  Sold.    ^Vhat  say  you  to  his  expertness  in  war.'' 

Par.  Faith,  sir,  has  led  the  drum  before  the 
English  tragedians.  To  belie  liim,  I  will  not, 
and  more  of  his  soldiership  I  know  not ;  except, 
in  that  country  he  had  the  honour  to  be  the  300 
officer  at  a  place  there  called  Mile-end,  to  in- 
struct for  the  doubling  of  files.  I  would  do  the 
man  what  honour  I  can,  but  of  this  I  am  not 
certain. 

^.  Lord.    He  hath  out-villain'd  villainy  so  far,  that   305 
the  rarity  redeems  him. 

Ber.    A  pox  on  him,  he's  a  cat  still. 

1.  Sold.  His  qualities  being  at  this  poor  price, 
I  need  not  to  ask  you  if  gold  will  corrupt  him 
to  revolt.  310 

Par.  Sir,  for  a  quart  d'ecu  he  will  sell  the  fee- 
simple  of  his  salvation,  the  inheritance  of 
it ;  and  cut  the  entail  from  all  remainders,  and 
a  perpetual  succession  for  it  perpetually. 

1.  Sold,  ^^^lat's    his    brother,  the    other  Captain    315 
Dumain  ? 

1.  Lord.    Why  does  he  ask  him  of  me.'* 

1.  Sold.    What's  he? 


I03       ail'flf  Mell  tljat  (EnUfif  Mell    Act  iv 

Par.   E'en  a  crow  o'  the  same  nest ;  not  altogether 

so  great  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater   320 
a  great  deal  in  evil.     He  excels  his  brother 
for  a  coward,  yet  his  brother  is  reputed  one  of 
the  best  that  is.     In  a  retreat  he  outruns  any 
lackey ;  marry,  in  coming  on  he  has  the  cramp. 

1.  Sold.    If    your    life    be    saved,    will    you    un-   325 
dertake  to  betray  the  Florentine  ? 

Par.  Ay,   and   the   captain   of   his   horse.  Count 
Rousillon. 

1.  Sold.    I'll  whisper  with  the  general,  and  know 

his  pleasure.  330 

Par.  [Aside.]  I'll  no  more  drumming;  a  plague 
of  all  drums  !  Only  to  seem  to  deserve  well, 
and  to  beguile  the  supposition  of  that  lasciv- 
ious young  boy  the  Count,  have  I  run  into 
this  danger.  Yet  who  would  have  suspected  335 
an  ambush  where  I  was  taken  ? 

1.  Sold.  There  is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you 
must  die.  The  general  says,  you  that  have 
so  traitorously  discover'd  the  secrets  of  your 
army  and  made  such  pestiferous  reports  of  men  340 
very  nobly  held,  can  serve  the  world  for  no 
honest  use ;  therefore  you  must  die.  Come, 
headsman,  off  with  his  head. 

Par.     O  Lord,  sir,  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see  my 

death !  345 

1.  Sold.      That  shall  you,   and   take  your  leave 


Sc.  Ill    aU'sf  Witll  tljat  enOfif  Mell         103 

of   all    your    friends.    [Unblinding    him.]    So, 
look  about  you.     Know  you  any  here  ? 
Ber.   Good  morrow,  noble  captain. 

1.  Lord.   God  bless  you,  Captain  ParoUes.  350 

2.  Lord.    God  save  you,  noble  captain. 

1.  Lord.    Captain,  what  greeting  will  you  to  my 

Lord  Lafeu  ?     I  am  for  France. 

2.  Lord.   Good  captain,  will  you  give  me  a  copy 

of  the  sonnet  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of  the   355 
Count  Rousillon  ?     An  I  were  not  a  very  cow- 
ard, I  'd  compel  it  of  you ;  but  fare  you  well. 

Exeunt  [Bertram  and  Lords]. 

1.  Sold.  You  are  undone,  captain,  all  but  your 
scarf;  that  has  a  knot  on't  yet. 

Par.     Who  cannot  be  crush'd  with  a  plot  ?  360 

1.  Sold.  If  you  could  find  out  a  country 
where  but  women  were  that  had  received  so 
much  shame,  you  might  begin  an  impudent  na- 
tion. Fare  ye  well,  sir ;  I  am  for  France  too. 
We  shall  speak  of  you  there.  365 

Exit  [vnth  Soldiers]. 

Par.   Yet    am     I     thankful.       If    my    heart      were 
great, 
'Twould  burst  at  this.     Captain  I'll  be  no  more; 
But  I  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 
As  captain  shall.     Simply  the  thing  I  am 
Shall  make  me  live.      Who  knows  himself  a  brag- 
gart, 370 


I04         M'&  Wizll  tliat  C^UDSf  Mell    Act  IV 

Let  him  fear  this ;   for  it  will  come  to  pass 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
Rust,  sword  !  cool,  blushes  !  and,  Parolles,  live 
Safest     in     shame !      Being     fool'd,    by     foolery 

thrive ! 
There's  place  and  means  for  every  man  alive.    375 
I'll  after  them.  Exit. 

SCENE    IV 

[Florence.     The  Widow's  house.] 
Enter  Helena^  Widow,  and  Diana. 

Hel.  That  you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not  wrong'd 

you, 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  Christian  world 
Shall    be    my    surety ;      'fore    whose    throne    'tis 

needful. 
Ere  I  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel. 
Time  was,  I  did  him  a  desired  oflBce,  5 

Dear  almost  as  his  life ;    which  gratitude 
Through  flinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth, 
And  answer,  thanks.     I  duly  am  inform'd 
His  Grace  is  at  Marseilles,  to  which  place 
We  have  convenient  convoy.  You  must  know,  10 
I  am  supposed  dead.     The  army  breaking. 
My    husband    hies    him    home;     where.    Heaven 

aiding, 


Sc.  IV   ail'fi?  OTell  t^at  €ntjfif  Witll         105 

And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  King, 
We'll  be  before  our  welcome. 

Wid.  Gentle  madam, 

You  never  had  a  servant  to  whose  trust  15 

Your  business  was  more  welcome. 

Hel.  Nor  you,  mistress, 

Ever  a  friend  whose  thoughts  more  truly  labour 
To  recompense  your  love.     Doubt  not  but  Heaven 
Hath    brought    me    up    to    be    your    daughter's 

dower, 
As  it  hath  fated  her  to  be  my  motive  20 

And  helper  to  a  husband.     But,  O  strange  men  ! 
That   can   such   sweet   use   make   of   what   they 

hate. 
When  saucy  trusting  of  the  cozen'd  thoughts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night ;   so  lust  doth  play 
With  what  it  loathes  for  that  which  is  away.     25 
But  more  of  this  hereafter.     You,  Diana, 
Under  my  poor  instructions  yet  must  suffer 
Something  in  my  behalf. 

Dia.  Let  death  and  honesty 

Go  with  your  impositions,  I  am  yours 
Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

Hel.  Yet,  I  pray  you.        30 

But  with  the  word  the  time  will  bring  on  sum- 
mer, 
When  briers  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 
And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp.     We  must  away. 


io6        air^  «ell  tliat  enDsf  Well    Act  iv 

Our  waggon  is  prepared,  and  time  revives  us. 
All's    well    that   ends   well  !     Still    the   fine's    the 
crown ;  35 

\^Tiate'er  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown. 

Exeunt. 

SCENE  V 

[Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace.] 
Enter  Countess,  Lafeu,  and  Clown. 

Laf.  No,  no,  no,  your  son  was  misled  with  a  snipt- 
taffeta  fellow  there,  v-hose  villanous  saffron 
would  have  made  all  the  unbak'd  and  doughy 
youth  of  a  nation  in  his  colour.  Your  daughter- 
in-law  had  been  alive  at  this  hour,  and  your  5 
son  here  at  home,  more  advanc'd  by  the  King 
than  by  that  red-tail 'd  humble-bee  I  speak  of. 

Count.  I  would  I  had  not  known  him.  It  was 
the  death  of  the  most  virtuous  gentlen'oman 
that  ever  Nature  had  praise  for  creating.  If  10 
she  had  partaken  of  my  flesh,  and  cost  me  the 
dearest  groans  of  a  mother,  I  could  not  have 
owed  her  a  more  rooted  love. 

Laf.   'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady.     We 

may  pick  a  thousand   salads  ere  we  light  on      15 
such  another  herb. 

CIo.    Indeed,    sir,    she    was    the    sweet-marjoram 
of  the  salad,  or  rather,  the  herb  of  grace. 


sc.  V     aU'flf  Well  tliat  c^nDg;  Well        107 

Laj.    They  are  not  [salad]  herbs,  you  knave ;  they 

are  nose-herbs.  20 

Clo.    I  am  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir;    I  have 

not  much  skill  in  grass. 
Laj.   Whether     dost     thou      profess      thyself     a 

knave  or  a  fool  ? 
Clo.   A  fool,   sir,  at    a    woman's    service,    and  a    25 

knave  at  a  man's. 
Laj.  Your  distinction  ? 
Clo.    I  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife  and  do 

his  service. 
Laf.   So  you  were    a    knave  at  his    service,  in-     30 

deed. 
Clo.   hud  I  would  give   his  wife  my   bauble,  sir, 

to  do  her  service. 
Laf.    I  will   subscribe    for   thee,   thou    art    both 

knave  and  fool.  35 

Clo.   At  your  service. 
Laf.   No,  no,  no. 
Clo.   Why,  sir,  if  I  cannot  serve  you,  I  can  serve 

as  great  a  prince  as  you  are. 
Laf.   Who's  that.?     A  Frenchman.?  40 

Clo.   Faith,  sir,  'a  has  an  English  name ;  but  his 

fisnomy  is  more  hotter  in  France  than  there. 
Laf.   \\Tiat  prince  is  that  ? 
Clo.   The  black   prince,  sir;    alias,  the   prince   of 

darkness;    alias,  the  devil.  45 

Laf.   Hold   thee,   there's  my  purse.     I  give   thee 


io8        aU'fiJ  mtll  tljat  entifit  Wlell  Act  IV 

not  this  to  suggest  thee  from  thy  master  thou 
talk'st  of.     Serve  him  still. 

Clo.    I  am    a  woodland    fellow,  sir,  that  always 

loved  a  great  fire ;  and  the  master  I  speak  of  50 
ever  keeps  a  good  fire.  But,  sure,  he  is  the 
prince  of  the  world ;  let  his  nobility  remain  in's 
court.  I  am  for  the  house  with  the  narrow 
gate,  which  I  take  to  be  too  little  for  pomp 
to  enter.  Some  that  humble  themselves  may ;  55 
but  the  many  will  be  too  chill  and  tender,  and 
they'll  be  for  the  flowery  way  that  leads  to  the 
broad  gate  and  the  great  fire. 

Laf.   Go    thy   ways,    I   begin    to    be    aweary    of 

thee ;  and  I  tell  thee  so  before,  because  I  would     60 
not  fall  out  with  thee.     Go  thy  ways.     Let  my 
horses  be  well  look'd  to,  without  any  tricks. 

Clo.  If  I  put  any  tricks  upon  'em,  sir,  they 
shall  be  jades'  tricks ;  which  are  their  own  right 
by  the  law  of  nature.  Exit. 

Laf.    A  shrewd  knave  and  an  unhappy.  66 

Count.    So    'a    is.      My    lord    that's    gone   made 
himself  much  sport  out  of  him.     By  his  au- 
thority he  remains  here,  which  he  thinks  is 
a  patent  for  his  sauciness  ;  and,  indeed,  he  has     70 
no  pace,  but  runs  where  he  will. 

Laf.  I  like  him  well ;  'tis  not  amiss.  And  I  was 
about  to  tell  you,  since  I  heard  of  the  good 
lady's  death  and  that  my  lord  your  son  was  upon 


Sc.  V    all's;  «ell  ttiat  enti0  Mell         109 

his  return  home,  I  moved  the  King  my  master  75 
to  speak  in  the  behalf  of  my  daughter ;  which, 
in  the  minority  of  them  both,  his  Majesty, 
out  of  a  self-gracious  remembrance,  did  first 
propose.  His  Highness  hath  promis'd  me  to 
do  it ;  and,  to  stop  up  the  displeasure  he  hath  80 
conceived  against  your  son,  there  is  no  fitter 
matter.     How  does  your  ladyship  like  it  ? 

Count.   With  very  much   content,  my   lord;    and 
I  wish  it  happily  effected. 

Laj.   His  Highness    comes    post    from  Marseilles,     85 
of  as  able  body  as  when  he  number'd  thirty. 
'A  will  be  here  to-morrow,  or  I  am  deceiv'd  by 
him  that  in  such  intelligence  hath  seldom  fail'd. 

Count.    It    rejoices  me,  that    I   hope  I  shall  see 

him  ere  I  die.     I  have  letters  that  my  son  will     90 
be  here  to-night.    I  shall  beseech  your  lordship 
to  remain  with  me  till  they  meet  together. 

Lo,J.   Madam,  I  was  thinking  with  what  manners 
I  might  safely  be  admitted. 

Count.   You    need    but    plead    your    honourable     95 
privilege. 

Laf.   Lady,     of     that     I     have     made     a    bold 
charter ;  but  I  thank  ray  God  it  holds  yet. 

Re-enter  Clown. 

Clo.   O    madam,    yonder's    my     lord     your    son 

with  a  patch  of   velvet  on's   face.      "Whether    100 


no        ail's?  Mell  ti)at  (Bnntsi  Witll    Act  iv 


there  be  a  scar  under't  or  no,  the  velvet 
knows  ;  but  'tis  a  goodly  patch  of  velvet.  His 
left  cheek  is  a  cheek  of  two  pile  and  a  half,  but 
his  right  cheek  is  worn  bare. 

Laf.  A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good 
livery  of  honour ;   so  belike  is  that. 

Clo.    But  it  is  your  carbonado'd  face. 

Laf.  Let  us    go  see    your  son,   I    pray  you. 
long  to  talk  with  the  young  noble  soldier. 

Clo.  'Faith,  there's  a  dozen  of  'em,  with  deli- 
cate fine  hats  and  most  courteous  feathers 
which  bow  the  head  and  nod  at  every  man. 

Exeunt 


105 


110 


ACT  FIFTH 
Scene  I 

[Marseilles.    A   street.] 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana,  with  two  Attendants. 

Hel.    But  this  exceeding  posting  day  and  night 

Must  wear  your  spirits  low;    we  cannot  help  it: 
But  since  you  have  made  the  days  and  nights 

as  one. 
To  wear  your  gentle  limbs  in  my  affairs, 
Be  bold  you  do  so  grow  in  my  requital  5 

Enter  a  Gentle  Astringer, 

As  nothing  can  unroot  you.  In  happy  time 
This  man  may  help  me  to  his  Majesty's  ear. 
If  he  would  spend  his  power.     God  save  you,  sir. 

Gent.   And  you. 

Hel.    Sir,  I  have  seen  you  in  the  court  of  France.       10 

Gent.    I  have  been  sometimes  there. 

Hel.    I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 

From  the  report  that  goes  upon  your  goodness ; 
And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasions. 
Which  lay  nice  manners  by,  I  put  you  to  X5 

The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 
I  shall  continue  thankful. 
Ill 


112        airs;  mtll  t^at  €nr>&  OTrll    Actv 

Gent.  What's  your  will? 

Hel.   That  it  will  please  you 

To  give  this  poor  petition  to  the  King, 

And  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have  20 

To  come  into  his  presence. 
Gent.   The  King's  not  here. 
Hel.  Not  here,  sir  ! 

Gent.  Not,  indeed. 

He  hence  remov'd  last  night,  and  with  more  haste 

Than  is  his  use. 
Wid.  Lord,  how  we  lose  our  pains 

Hel.   All's  well  that  ends  well  yet,  25 

Though  time  seem  so  adverse  and  means  unfit. 

I  do  beseech  you,  whither  is  he  gone  ? 
Gejit.   Marry,  as  I  take  it,  to  Rousillon, 

Whither  I  am  going. 
Hel.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir. 

Since  you  are  like  to  see  the  King  before  me,       30 

Commend  the  paper  to  his  gracious  hand. 

Which  I  presume  shall  render  you  no  blame 

But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it. 

I  will  come  after  you  with  what  good  speed 

Our  means  will  make  us  means. 
Gent.  This  I'll  do  for  you. 

Hel.   And  you  shall  find  yourself  to  be  well  thank'd,  36 

Wliate'er  falls  more.     We  must  to  horse  again. 

Go,  go,  provide.  [Exeunt.] 


sc.  II    M'^  Mell  tljat  emu  Mell         113 

Scene  II 

[Rousillon.     Inner  court  of  the  Count's  palace.] 
Enter  Clown  and  Parolles. 

Par.  Good  Master  Lavache,  give  my  Lord  Lafeu 
this  letter.  I  have  ere  now,  sir,  been  better 
known  to  you,  when  I  have  held  familiarity 
with  fresher  clothes ;  but  I  am  now,  sir, 
muddied  in  Fortune's  mood,  and  smell  some-  5 
what  strong  of  her  strong  displeasure. 

Clo.  Truly,  Fortune's  displeasure  is  but  sluttish, 
if  it  smell  so  strongly  as  thou  speak' st  of.  I 
will  henceforth  eat  no  fish  of  Fortune's  butter- 
ing.    Prithee,  allow  the  wind.  10 

Par.  Nay,  you  need  not  to  stop  your  nose,  sir  ;  I 
spake  but  by  a  metaphor. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  I  will  stop 
my  nose ;  or  against  any  man's  metaphor. 
Prithee,  get  thee  further.  15 

Par.   Pray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 

Clo.  Foh  !  prithee,  stand  away.  A  paper  from 
Fortune's  close-stool  to  give  to  a  nobleman ! 
Look,  here  he  comes  himself. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Here  is  a  purr  of  Fortune's,  sir,  or  of  Fortune's      20 
cat,  —  but  not  a  musk-cat,  —  that  has  fallen 


114        M'&  mtli  tliat  (IBnD0  WHtil     Act  v 

into  the  unclean  fishpond  of  her  displeasure, 
and,  as  he  says,  is  muddied  withal.  Pray  you, 
sir,  use  the  carp  as  you  may  ;  for  he  looks  like 
a  poor,  decayed,  ingenious,  foolish,  rascally  25 
knave.  I  do  pity  his  distress  in  my  similes  of 
comfort,  and  leave  him  to  your  lordship.        [Exit.] 

Par.  My  lord,  I  am  a  man  whom  Fortune  hath 
cruelly  scratch'd. 

Laf.  And  what  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  'Tis  30 
too  late  to  pare  her  nails  now.  Wherein  have 
you  play'd  the  knave  with  Fortune,  that  she 
should  scratch  you,  who  of  herself  is  a  good 
lady  and  would  not  have  knaves  thrive  long 
under  her  ?  There's  a  quart  d'ecu  for  you.  Let  35 
the  justices  make  you  and  Fortune  friends ; 
I  am  for  other  business. 

Par.  I  beseech  your  honour  to  hear  me  one  single 
word. 

Laf.   You  beg  a  simple  penny  more.     Come,  you 

shall  ha'  't ;  save  your  word.  40 

Par.   My  name,  my  good  lord,  is  ParoUes. 

Laf.  You  beg  more  than  word,  then.  Cox  my 
passion  !  give  me  your  hand.  How  does  your 
drum  ? 

Par.    0  my  good  lord,  you  were  the  first  that  found     45 
me  ! 

Laf.  Was  I,  in  sooth  ?  And  I  was  the  first  that 
lost  thee. 


Sc.  Ill   ail*0  WitW  tliat  enw  Witli         IIS 

Par.    It  lies  in  you,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  in  some 

grace,  for  you  did  bring  me  out.  50 

Laf.  Out  upon  thee,  knave  !  Dost  thou  put  upon 
me  at  once  both  the  oJBSce  of  God  and  the 
devil  ?  one  brings  thee  in  grace  and  the  other 
brings  thee  out.  [Trumpets  sound.]  The  King's 
coming ;  I  know  by  his  trumpets.  Sirrah,  55 
inquire  further  after  me.  I  had  talk  of  you  last 
night.  Though  you  are  a  fool  and  a  knave,  you 
shall  eat ;   go  to,  follow. 

Par.   I  praise  God  for  you.  [Exeunt.] 

SCENE  III 

[Bmisillon.     The  Count's  palace.] 

Flourish.     Enter  King,  Countess,  Lafeu,  the  two  French 
Lords,  with  Attendants. 

King.   We  lost  a  jewel  of  her,  and  our  esteem 

Was  made  much  poorer  by  it ;   but  your  son. 
As  mad  in  folly,  lack'd  the  sense  to  know 
Her  estimation  home. 

Count.  'Tis  past,  my  liege  ; 

And  I  beseech  yqur  Majesty  to  make  it  5 

Natural  rebellion,  done  i'  the  blaze  of  youth  ; 
When  oil  and  fire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 
O'erbears  it  and  burns  on. 

King.  My  honour'd  lady. 


ii6        ail's;  Mell  tljac  enD0  Mrll     Actv 

I  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all ; 

Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him,  10 

And  watch'd  the  time  to  shoot. 

Laj.  This  I  must  say. 

But  first  I  beg  my  pardon,  the  young  lord 
Did  to  his  Majesty,  his  mother,  and  his  lady 
Offence  of  mighty  note  ;  but  to  himself 
The  greatest  wrong  of  all.     He  lost  a  wife  15 

Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 
Of  richest  eyes,  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive. 
Whose   dear    perfection    hearts    that  scorn'd    to 

serve 
Humbly  call'd  mistress. 

King.  Praising  what  is  lost 

Makes    the   remembrance   dear.     Well,    call   him 
hither ;  20 

We  are  reconcil'd,  and  the  first  view  shall  kill 
All  repetition.     Let  him  not  ask  our  pardon. 
The  nature  of  his  great  offence  is  dead. 
And  deeper  than  oblivion  we  do  bury 
The  incensing  relics  of  it.     Let  him  approach,     25 
A  stranger,  no  offender ;   and  inform  him 
So  'tis  our  will  he  should. 

1.  Lord.  I  shall,  my  liege. 

[Exit] 

King.   What  says  he  to  your  daughter  .'^     Have   you 
spoke  .'* 

Laj.   All  that  he  is  hath  reference  to  your  Highness. 


sc.  IH   ail's;  OTell  tliat  enD0  Mell         117 

King.   Then  shall  we  have  a  match.      I  have  letters 
sent  me  30 

That  sets  him  high  in  fame. 

Enter  Bertram. 

Laf.  He  looks  well  on't. 

King.    I  am  not  a  day  of  season. 

For  thou  mayst  see  a  sunshine  and  a  hail 
In  me  at  once.     But  to  the  brightest  beams         34 
Distracted  clouds  give  way,  so  stand  thou  forth  ; 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Ber.  My  high-repented  blames. 

Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 

King.  All  is  whole  ; 

Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time. 
Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top ; 
For  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  decrees         40 
The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  Time 
Steals  ere  we  can  effect  them.     You  remember 
The  daughter  of  this  lord  "^ 

Ber.    Admiringly,  my  liege.     At  first 

I  stuck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart  45 

Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue, 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing, 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me, 
Which  warp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favour, 
Scorn'd  a  fair  colour,  or  express'd  it  stolen,         50 
Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions 


ii8        aiP0  OTell  tt)at  €nt}&  WitW     Act  v 

To  a  most  hideous  object.     Thence  it  came 
That  she  whom  all  men  prais'd  and  whom  myself, 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  lov'd,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  oflfend  it. 

King.  Well  excus'd.         55 

That  thou  didst  love  her,  strikes  some  scores  away 
From  the  great  compt ;  but  love  that  comes  too  late, 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried. 
To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  offence. 
Crying,    "That's   good    that's   gone."     Our   rash 
faults  60 

Make  trivial  price  of  serious  things  we  have, 
Not  knowing  them  until  we  know  their  grave. 
Oft  our  displeasures,  to  ourselves  unjust, 
Destroy  our  friends  and  after  weep  their  dust. 
Our  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  what's  done,     65 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  afternoon. 
Be  this  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  forget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Maudlin. 
The  main  consents  are  had  ;   and  here  we'll  stay 
To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day,  70 

Which  better  than  the  first,  O  dear  Heaven,  bless  ! 
Or,  ere  they  meet,  in  me,  O  nature,  cease  ! 

Laf.   Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  my  house's  name 
Must  be  digested,  give  a  favour  from  you 
To  sparkle  in  the  spirits  of  my  daughter,  75 

That  she  may  quickly  come.    [Bertram  gives  a  ring.] 
By  my  old  beard. 


Sc.  Ill   ail'0  Mell  t^at  enOflf  Witll         119 

And  every  hair  that's  on't,  Helen,  that's  dead. 
Was  a  sweet  creature ;   such  a  ring  as  this, 
The  last  that  e'er  I  took  her  leave  at  court, 
I  saw  upon  her  finger. 

Ber.  Hers  it  was  not.  80 

King.  Now,  pray  you,  let  me  see  it ;  for  mine  eye. 
While  I  was  speaking,  oft  was  fasten'd  to't. 
This  ring  was  mine  ;  and,  when  I  gave  it  Helen, 
I  bade  her,  if  her  fortunes  ever  stood 
Necessitied  to  help,  that  by  this  token  85 

I  would  relieve  her.     Had  you  that  craft,  to  reave 

her 
Of  what  should  stand  her  most  ? 

Ber.  My  gracious  sovereign, 

Howe'er  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so. 
The  ring  was  never  hers. 

Count.  Son,  on  my  life, 

I  have  seen  her  wear  it ;  and  she  reckon'd  it        90 
At  her  life's  rate. 

Laf.  I  am  sure  I  saw  her  wear  it. 

Ber.   You  are  deceived,  my  lord,  she  never  saw  it. 
In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  thrown  me, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  paper,  which  contain'd  the  name 
Of  her  that  threw  it.  Noble  she  was,  and  thought  95 
I  stood  engag'd  ;  but  when  I  had  subscrib'd 
To  mine  own  fortune,  and  inform'd  her  fully 
I  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honour 
As  she  had  made  the  overture,  she  ceas'd 


I20        ail'flf  Mell  ttiat  (EnDs?  WizW     Act  v 

In  heavy  satisfaction  and  would  never  100 

Receive  the  ring  again. 

King.  Plutus  himself, 

That  knows  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine. 

Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  more  science 

Than  I  have  in  this    ring.      'Twas    mine,    'twas 

Helen's, 
Whoever  gave  it  you.     Then,  if  you  know  105 

That  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself. 
Confess   'twas  hers,  and  by  what  rough  enforce- 
ment 
You  got  it  from  her.    She  call'd  the  saints  to  surety 
That  she  would  never  put  it  from  her  finger. 
Unless  she  gave  it  to  yourself  in  bed,  110 

Where  you  have  never  come,  or  sent  it  us 
Upon  her  great  disaster. 

Ber.  She  never  saw  it. 

King.   Thou  speak'st  it  falsely,  as  I  love  mine  honour ; 
And  mak'st  conjectural  fears  to  come  into  me. 
Which  I  would  fain  shut  out.    If  it  should  prove  115 
That  thou  art    so    inhuman,  —  'twill    not    prove 

so ;  — 
And  yet  I  know  not :  thou  didst  hate  her  deadly. 
And  she  is  dead  ;  which  nothing,  but  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  me  to  believe. 
More  than  to  see  this  ring.     Take  him  away.      120 

[Gtiards  seize  Bertram.] 
My  fore-past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall. 


Sc.  Ill    airsf  Mell  t^at  enD£f  Well         121 

Shall  tax  my  fears  of  little  vanity. 
Having  vainly  fear'd  too  little.     Away  with  him  ! 
We'll  sift  this  matter  further. 
Ber.  If  you  shall  prove 

This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy  125 

Prove  that  I  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence, 
\Miere  yet  she  never  was.  [Exit,  guarded.] 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

King.    I  am  wrapp'd  in  dismal  thinkings. 

Gent.  Gracious  sovereign, 

Whether  I  have  been  to  blame  or  no,  I  know  not. 
Here's  a  petition  from  a  Florentine,  ISO 

Who  hath  for  four  or  five  removes  come  short 
To  tender  it  herself.     I  undertook  it, 
Vanquish'd  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this  I  know 
Is  here  attending.     Her  business  looks  in  her     135 
With  an  importing  visage  ;  and  she  told  me. 
In  a  sweet  verbal  brief,  it  did  concern 
Your  Highness  with  herself. 

[King.  Reads]  a  letter.  "Upon  his  many  protes- 
tations to  marry  me  when  his  wife  was  dead,  140 
I  blush  to  say  it,  he  won  me.  Now  is  ._  the 
Count  Rousillon  a  widower  ;  his  vows  are  for- 
feited to  me,  and  my  honour's  paid  to  him. 
He  stole  from  Florence,  taking  no  leave,  and  I 

/ 


123        3111*51  tiMell  t^at  CnHfli  Well    Act  v 

follow  him  to  his  country  for  justice.     Grant  it  145 
me,  O  king  !    In  you  it  best  lies.      Otherwise 
a  seducer  flourishes,  and  a  poor  maid  is  undone. 

Diana  Capilet." 

Laf.    I  will  buy  me  a  son-in  law  in  a  fair,  and  toll 

for  this.     I'll  none  of  him. 
King.   The    heavens    have    thought     well    on    thee, 
Lafeu,  150 

To  bring  forth  this  discovery.     Seek  these  suitors. 

Go  speedilj'  and  bring  again  the  Count. 

I  am  afeard  the  life  of  Helen,  lady. 

Was  foully  snatch'd. 
Count.  Now,  justice  on  the  doers  ! 

Re-enter  Bertram  [gwirded]. 

King.  I  wonder,  sir,  sith  wives  are  monsters  to  you,  155 
And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lordship, 
Yet  you  desire  to  marry.     What  woman's  that  ? 

Enter  Widow  and  Diana. 

Dia.   I  am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Florentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capilet. 
My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know,  IGO 

And  therefore  know  how  far  I  may  be  pitied. 

Wid.    I  am  her  mother,  sir,  whose  age  and  honour 
Both  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bring. 
And  both  shall  cease,  without  your  remedy. 


Sc.  Ill   ail'0  Well  t^at  enOsf  Mell         123 

King.    Come    hither,    Count ;     do    you    know    these 
women  ?  165 

Ber.   My  lord,  I  neither  can  nor  will  deny 

But  that  I  know  them.  Do  they  charge  me  further  ? 
Dia.   \Miy  do  you  look  so  strange  upon  your  wife  ? 
Ber.   She's  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 
Dia.  If  you  shall  marry, 

You  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine  ;      170 

You  give  away  heaven's  vows,  and  those  are  mine  ; 

You  give  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine ; 

For  I  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours. 

That  she  which  marries  you  must  marry  me, 

Either  both  or  none.  175 

Laf.   Your   reputation   comes    too    short   for   my 

daughter  ;   you  are  no  husband  for  her. 
Ber.   My  lord,  this  is  a  fond  and  desperate  creature. 

Whom  sometime  I  have  laugh'd  with.     Let  your 
Highness 

Lay  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honour     180 

Than  for  to  think  that  I  would  sink  it  here. 
King.   Sir,  for  my  thoughts,  you  have  them  ill  to  friend 

Till  your   deeds   gain   them.     Fairer  prove   your 
honour 

Than  in  my  thought  it  lies. 
Dia.  Good  my  lord. 

Ask  him  upon  his  oath,  if  he  does  think  185 

He  had  not  my  virginity. 
King.   What  say'st  thou  to  her  ? 


L24        ail's;  Mell  t^at  enti0  OTell    Act  v 

Ber.  She's  impudent,  my  lord. 

And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp. 

Dia.   He  does  me  wrong,  my  lord  ;   if  I  were  so. 

He  might  have  bought  me  at  a  common  price.  190 
Do  not  believe  him.     O,  behold  this  ring. 
Whose  high  respect  and  rich  validity 
Did  lack  a  parallel ;  yet  for  all  that 
He  gave  it  to  a  commoner  o'  the  camp. 
If  I  be  one. 

Count.  He  blushes,  and  'tis  hit.  195 

Of  six  preceding  ancestors,  that  gem, 
Conferr'd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue. 
Hath  it  been  owed  and  worn.     This  is  his  wife ; 
That  ring's  a  thousand  proofs. 

King.  Methought  you  said 

You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it.         200 

Dia.    I  did,  my  lord,  but  loath  am  to  produce 
So  bad  an  instrument.     His  name's  Parolles. 

Laf.    I  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 

King.   Find  him,  and  bring  him  hither. 

[Exit  an  attendant.] 

Ber.  What  of  him  ? 

He's  quoted  for  a  most  perfidious  slave,  205 

With  all  the  spots  o'  the  world  tax'd  and  debauch'd, 
Whose  nature  sickens  but  to  speak  a  truth. 
Am  I  or  that  or  this  for  what  he'll  utter, 
That  will  speak  anything  ? 

King.  She  hath  that  ring  of  yours. 


Sc.  Ill    aU'flf  mtli  t^at  <EnO0  Mell        125 

Ber,   I  think  she  has.     Certain  it  is  I  lik'd  her,        210 
And  boarded  her  i'  the  wanton  way  of  youth. 
She  knew  her  distance  and  did  angle  for  me. 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  restraint. 
As  all  impediments  in  fancy's  course 
Are  motives  of  more  fancy  ;  and,  in  fine,  215 

Her  infinite  cunning,  with  her  modern  grace, 
Subdu'd  me  to  her  rate.     She  got  the  ring ; 
And  I  had  that  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market-price  have  bought. 

Dia.  I  must  be  patient. 

You,  that  have  turn'd  off  a  first  so  noble  wife,    220 
May  justly  diet  me.     I  pray  you  yet,  — 
Since  you  lack  virtue,  I  will  lose  a  husband,  — 
Send  for  your  ring,  I  will  return  it  home. 
And  give  me  mine  again. 

Ber.  I  have  it  not. 

King.   What  ring  was  yours,  I  pray  you  ? 

Dia.  Sir,  much  like 

The  same  upon  your  finger.  226 

King.   Know  you  this  ring  ?     This  ring  was  his  of  late. 

Dia.   And  this  was  it  I  gave  him,  being  abed. 

King.   The  story  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it  him 
Out  of  a  casement. 

Dia.  I  have  spoke  the  truth.      230 

Enter  Parolles. 
Ber.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  the  ring  was  hers. 


136        2i\Vfi  mtW  t^at  C^nDs;  OTell     Act  v 

King,   You  boggle  shrewdly,  every  feather  starts  you. 
Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of  ? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  lord. 

King.   Tell  me,  sirrah,  but  tell  me  true,  I  charge  you. 
Not  fearing  the  displeasure  of  your  master,         235 
^Miich  on  your  just  proceeding  I'll  keep  off, 
By  him  and  by  this  woman  here  what  know  you  ? 

Par.  So  please  your  Majesty,  my  master  hath  been 
an  honourable  gentleman.  Tricks  he  hath  had 
in  him,  which  gentlemen  have.  240 

King.  Come,  come,  to  the  purpose.  Did  he  love 
this  woman  ? 

Par.   Faith,  sir,  he  did  love  her  ;  but  how  ? 

King.   How,  I  pray  you  ? 

Par.   He  did  love  her,  sir,  as  a  gentleman  loves  a   245 
woman. 

King.   How  is  that  ? 

Par.   He  lov'd  her,  sir,  and  lov'd  her  not. 

King.   As  thou  art  a  knave,  and  no  knave. 

V^Tiat  an  equivocal  companion  is  this  !  250 

Par.  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  at  your  Majesty's  com- 
mand. 

Laf.  He's  a  good  drum,  my  lord,  but  a  naughty 
orator. 

Dia.   Do  you  know  he  promis'd  me  marriage  ?  255 

Par.   Faith,  I  know  more  than  I'll  speak. 

King.   But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  know'st  ? 

Par.   Yes,  so  please  your  Majesty.     I  did  go  be- 


Sc.  Ill  ail's;  Mell  tl^at  CnD0  watii         127 

tween  them,  as  I  said ;  but  more  than  that, 
he  lov'd  her ;  for  indeed  he  was  mad  for  her,  260 
and  talk'd  of  Satan  and  of  Limbo  and  of 
Furies  and  I  know  not  what.  Yet  I  was  in 
that  credit  with  them  at  that  time  that  I 
knew  of  their  going  to  bed,  and  of  other  mo- 
tions, as  promising  her  marriage,  and  things  265 
which  would  derive  me  ill  will  to  speak  of ; 
therefore,  I  will  not  speak  what  I  know. 

King.   Thou  hast  spoken  all  already,  unless  thou 
canst  say  they  are  married.     But  thou  art  too 
fine  in  thy  evidence ;  therefore  stand  aside.   270 
This  ring,  you  say,  was  yours  ? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.   Where  did  you  buy  it  ?    Or  who  gave  it  you  ? 

Dia.    It  was  not  given  me,  nor  I  did  not  buy  it. 

King.   Who  lent  it  you  .'' 

Dia.  It  was  not  lent  me  neither. 

King.   Where  did  you  find  it,  then  ? 

Dia.  I  found  it  not. 

King.   If  it  were  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways,       276 
How  could  you  give  it  him  ? 

Dia.  I  never  gave  it  him. 

Laf.   This  woman's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord ;    she 
goes  off  and  on  at  pleasure. 

King.  This  ring  was  mine  ;  I  gave  it  his  first  wife.      280 

Dia.    It  might  be  yours  or  hers,  for  aught  I  know. 

King.   Take  her  away ;   I  do  not  like  her  now. 


i28        air^  OTell  t^at  enDg  OTell     Act  v 

To  prison  with  her ;  and  away  with  him. 
Unless    thou    tell'st    me    where  thou  hadst   this 
ring,  284 

Thou  diest  within  this  hour. 

Dia.  I'll  never  tell  you. 

King.   Take  her  away. 

Dia.  I'll  put  in  bail,  my  liege. 

King.    I  think  thee  now  some  common  customer. 

Dia.   By  Jove,  if  ever  I  knew  man,  'twas  you. 

King.   Wherefore  hast  thou  accus'd  him  all  this  while  ? 

Dia.   Because  he's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guilty.  290 

He  knows  I  am  no  maid,  and  he'll  swear  to't : 
I'll  swear  I  am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 
Great  king,  I  am  no  strumpet,  by  my  life ; 
I  am  either  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife. 

King.    She  does  abuse  our  ears.     To  prison  with  her  !  295 

Dia.    Good  mother,  fetch  my  bail.     Stay,  royal  sir, 

[Exit  Widow.] 
The  jeweller  that  owes  the  ring  is  sent  for, 
And  he  shall  surety  me.     But  for  this  lord, 
WTio  hath  abus'd  me,  as  he  knows  himself. 
Though  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  quit  him.  300 
He  knows  himself  my  bed  he  hath  defil'd. 
And  at  that  time  he  got  his  wife  with  child. 
Dead   though  she   be,    she  feels   her   young   one 

kick. 
So  there's  my  riddle  :  one  that's  dead  is  quick ; 
And  now  behold  the  meaning. 


Sc.  Ill   aU'fif  Mell  t\)U  euDflf  Mell         129 


Re-enter  Widow^  vnth  Heleim. 

King.  Is  there  no  exorcist 

Beguiles  the  truer  office  of  mine  eyes  ?  306 

Is't  real  that  I  see  ? 
Hel.  No,  my  good  lord  ; 

'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see, 

The  name  and  not  the  thing. 
Ber.  Both,  both.     O,  pardon  ! 

Hel.    O  my  good  lord,  when  I  was  like  this  maid,       310 

I  found  you  wondrous  kind.     There  is  your  ring  ; 

And,  look  you,  here's  your  letter.     This  it  says  : 

"  When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring 

And  are  by  me  with  child,"  etc. 

This  is  done. 

Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won  ^       315 
Ber.    If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this  clearly, 

I'll  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly. 
Hel.    If  it  appear  not  plain  and  prove  untrue. 

Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you  ! 

0  my  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  living  ?  320 
Laf.   Mine  eyes  smell  onions  ;  I  shall  weep  anon. 

[To  Parolles.]   Good  Tom  Drum,  lend  me  a  hand- 
kercher.     So, 

1  thank  thee ;    wait  on  me  home,  I'll  make  sport 

with  thee. 
Let  thy  courtesies  alone,  they  are  scurvy  ones. 
King.   Let  us  from  point  to  point  this  story  know,   325 

E 


I30        ail'0  Mell  tt)at  (I0nU0  «eU    Act  v 

To  make  the  even  truth  in  pleasure  flow. 

[To  Diana.]    If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped 

flower, 
Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  I'll  pay  thy  dower  ; 
For  I  can  guess  that  by  thy  honest  aid 
Thou  kept'st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid.         330 
Of  that  and  all  the  progress,  more  and  less, 
Resolvedly  more  leisure  shall  express. 
All  yet  seems  well ;  and  if  it  end  so  meet. 
The  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet. 

Flourish. 

[EPILOGUE] 

[King.]   The  king's  a  beggar,  now  the  play  is  done.     335 
All  is  well  ended,  if  this  suit  be  won. 
That  you  express  content ;  which  we  will  pay. 
With  strife  to  please  you,  day  exceeding  day. 
Ours  be  your  patience  then,  and  yours  our  parts ; 
Your  gentle  hands  lend  us,  and  take  our  hearts.  340 

Exeunt  omnes. 


0ott& 


Act  First,  Scene  i.  The  play  is  divided  into  acts  in  the 
Folio;  the  scene  divisions  and  notes  of  place  have  been 
added  by  later  editors.  The  stage  directions  are  in  the 
main  those  of  the  Folio,  with  some  later  expansions  and 
additions,  distinguished  by  brackets. 

I.  i.  10-12.  whose  worthiness  .  .  .  abundance.  Even 
if  the  King  lacked  kindness,  your  worthiness  would  inspire 
it;  how  much  more,  then,  shall  you  find  it,  when  it  is 
already  present  in  abundance. 

I.  i.  51.  simpleness.  Absence  of  the  complexity  which 
exists  where  mind  and  qualities  do  not  accord.  Helena's 
disposition  and  gifts  are  of  a  piece. 

I.  i.  69.  How  understand  we  that?  Lafeu's  diflSculty 
is  not  with  Bertram's  words,  but  with  the  preceding  speech 
of  the  Countess,  who  has  given  to  Lafeu's  commonplace 
observation  a  turn  suggested  by  her  suspicion  (cf.  I.  iii. 
127)  that  the  living  Bertram  is  the  enemy  to  Helena's 
sorrow  for  her  dead  father.  Meantime  Bertram  has  been 
quick  to  change  the  subject. 

I.  i.  70-81.  Compare  Polonius's  advice  to  Laertes, 
Hamlet,  I.  iii.  59-80. 

I.  i.  81,  82.  He  is  sure  to  have  the  best  advice  that  those 
who  love  him  can  give. 

I.  i.  91.  these  great  tears.  The  tears  which  Helena 
sheds  for  Bertram,  but  which  the  others  suppose  to  be 
for  her  father. 

131 


133  il^oteflf 

I.  i.  100.    sphere.     Cf.  especially  Hamlet,  IV.  vii.  15. 

I.  i.  114.    take  place.     Take  precedence. 

I.  i.  121-179.  This  passage  has  been  regarded  by  many 
editors  as  an  interpolation  —  a  view  to  which  its  seeming 
inconsistency  with  Helena's  character,  as  well  as  the  break 
in  the  connection  at  its  close,  lends  some  color.  But  it 
should  also  be  remembered  that  many  things  which  are 
distasteful  to  us  were  not  so  to  an  Elizabethan  audience, 
or  even  to  Shakespeare. 

I.  i.  172.  toothpick.  Toothpicks  were  actually  worn, 
either  in  the  hat  or  on  a  ribbon. 

I.  i.  180.  There.  The  break  in  the  connection  makes 
the  reference  obscure.  There  has  been  interpreted  vari- 
ously as  referring  to  the  Court,  to  Helena  herself,  and  even 
to  both,  on  the  supposition  that  Helena  secretly  means 
herself,  but  ostensibly  (for  Parolles's  benefit)  the  Court. 

I.  i.  199,  200.  show  .  .  .  thanks.  The  contrast  is 
between  showing  ("  with  effects,"  by  deeds)  and  merely 
thinking,  which  never  yields  us  gratitude. 

I.  i.  218.  of  a  good  wing.  A  term  of  praise,  as  applied 
to  a  falcon,  but  used  here  with  a  quibble  on  the  other  sense 
of  flight. 

I.  i.  237,  238.  Those  who  are  sundered  by  the  greatest 
disparity  of  fortune  nature  (through  the  affections)  brings 
together,  so  that  they  join  like  things  that  are  alike  and 
native  to  each  other.  For  space  in  fortune,  cf.  I.  iii.  115- 
117;   for  kiss,  cf.  Timon  of  Athens,  IV.  iii.  388,  389. 

I.  i.  240.  weigh  their  pains  in  sense.  Estimate  their 
labors  on  the  basis  of  mere  reason,  instead  of  daring  greatly. 

I.  ii.  41.  his  hand.  The  clock's  hand;  its  rarely  occurs 
in  Shakespeare. 


j^teflf  133 

I.  ii.  43.  He  treated  as  strangers,  or,  as  being  of  higher 
rank  than  they  were. 

I.  ii.  44,  45.  Making  .  .  .  humbled.  Making  them 
proud  through  his  condescension,  and  humbling  himself 
n  receiving  the  inadequate  praise  which  it  called  forth. 
The  passage  is  perhaps  corrupt. 

I.  ii.  54,  55.  Probably  a  reminiscence  of  the  Collect 
in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer:  "  Grant  .  .  .  that  the 
words  which  we  have  heard  with  our  outward  ears  may 
.  .  .  be  so  grafted  inwardly  .  .  .  that  they  may  bring  forth 
the  fruit  of  good  living."     (Knight.) 

I.  ii.  68.   lend  it  you.     Give  you  love. 

I.  iii.  19.   to  go  to  the  world.     To  be  married. 

I.  iii.  45.  Y'are  shallow  ...  in  great  friends.  Your 
knowledge  of  great  friends  is  not  profound. 

I.  iii.  55,  56.  Charbon  .  .  .  Poysam.  It  has  been  con- 
jectured plausibly  that  the  words  may  stand  for  Chair- 
bonne  and  Poisson,  and  may  refer  to  the  respective  Lenten 
fare  of  the  Puritan  and  the  Papist. 

I.  iii.  64-67.  Cf.  the  lines  of  a  ballad  published  in 
1577- 

Content  yourself  as  well  as  I, 
Let  reason  rule  your  mind  : 
As  cuckolds  come  by  destiny 
So  cuckoos  sing  by  kind. 

I.  iii.  74-83.  Probably  also  adapted  from  a  contempor- 
ary ballad.  With  the  first  line  compare  Marlowe's  Doctor 
Faustus,   xiii.   92: 

"  Was  this  the  face  that  launch'd  a  thousand  ships. 
And  burn'd  the  topless  towers  of  Ilium  ?  " 


134  0Otti 

I.  iii.  91.  o'er  every  blazing  star.  Over  (that  is,  during 
the  time  of)  every  comet.  Collier  reads  one  for  o'er, 
Capell,  or. 

I.  iii.  99.  A  reference  to  the  Puritan  aversion  to  the 
surplice,  for  which  the  black  Geneva  gown  was  substituted. 

I.  iii.  100.   big  heart.     Haughty  spirit. 

I.  iii.  135.  these.  Such  pains  of  love  as  Helena  is 
undergoing.  The  idea  is  at  once  made  explicit  in  "  This 
thorn." 

I.  iii.  169-171.  Or  were  you  .  .  .  not  his  sister.  If  you 
were  the  mother  of  both  of  us,  I  should  care  for  it  as  I  care 
for  heaven,  if  only  thereby  I  were  not  his  sister.  No  more 
than  is  litotes. 

I.  iii.  208.  captious  and  intenible  (Fi  intemible).  If 
captious  means  "  able  to  contain  "  or  "  capacious,"  as  it 
is  commonly  interpreted,  it  appears  nowhere  else  in  this  sense ; 
and  intenible  ("  incapable  of  retaining ")  is  found  only 
here.  Singer  suggests  that  captious  has  the  sense  of 
"  deceitful,  fallacious,"  and  that  the  reference  may  be  to  the 
sieve  of  the  Danaides.  The  phrase,  as  it  stands,  seems  to 
mean  a  deceptive  sieve  that  will  not  hold. 

I.  iii.  219.  both  herself  and  love.  Chastity  and  passion 
together. 

I.  iii.  230.  For  general  sovereignty.  As  of  sovereign 
and  universal  value. 

I.  iii.  231.  In  heedfulPst  reservation  to  bestow  them. 
To  treasure  them  up  with  the  utmost  care. 

I.  iii.  232,  233.  notes  .  .  .  note.  Prescriptions  the  vir- 
tues of  which  were  more  comprehensive  than  was  matter  of 
common  knowledge. 

II.  i.  1,  2.   lords    .  .  .    lords.     The    Cambridge    editors 


j^otta  135 

suggest  that  **  probably  the  young  noblemen  are  divided 
into  two  sections  as  they  intend  to  take  service  with  the 
Florentines  or  '  Senoys.'  " 

II.  i.  6.  After  well  ent'red  soldiers.  After  being  well 
initiated  as  soldiers. 

II.  i.  12-14.  higher  Italy  .  .  .  monarchy.  The  passage 
is  probably  corrupt.  Higher  Italy  has  been  variously 
interpreted  as  "  Upper  Italy,"  and  "  the  worthiest  among 
Italians."  The  last  monarchy  has  been  explained  as  Rome, 
and  as  the  empire  of  Charles  V. 

II.  i.  27.  I  am  .  .  .  kept  a  coil.  I  have  a  fuss  made 
about  me. 

II.  i.  30.   the  forehorse  to  a  smock.     A  lady's  usher. 

II.  i.  54,  55.  wear  themselves  in  the  cap  of  the  time. 
Are  in  the  height  of  fashion.      Cf.   Hamlet,  II.  ii.  233. 

II.  i.  55,  56.  muster  true  gait.  Apparently,  make  a 
parade  of  the  correct  gait.  Cf.  2  Henry  IV,  II.  iii.  28-32; 
Winter's  Tale,  IV.  iv.  755. 

II.  i.  70.  across.  By  a  clumsy  or  unskilful  stroke.  Cf. 
Much  Ado,  V.  i.  139;  .4^  You  Like  It,  III.  iv.  44-47. 

II.  i.  87,  88.  hath  amazed  .  .  .  weakness.  My  amaze- 
ment is  too  great  to  be  accounted  for  by  imputing  it  to 
my  weakness. 

II.  i.  138.  set  up  your  rest.  Make  up  your  mind.  A 
phrase  from  the  game  of  primero,  but  frequently  used  in  a 
figurative  sense  as  here. 

II.  i.  158,  159.  proclaim  .  .  .  aim.  I  do  not  insincerely 
claim  powers  for  myself  contrary  to  what  I  know  I  can 
effect. 

II.  i.  166.    murk.     Either  noun  or  adjective. 

II.  i.  176.   nay  .  .  .  eirtended.     What  is  worst,  drawn 


136  i^otrfif 

out  to  what  is  even  worse.  For  a  fuller  statement  of  the 
same  idea,  cf.  King  Lear,  IV.  i.  8,  9 ;  27-30.  The  passage  is 
obscure  :   see  Textual  Variants. 

II.  i.  180,  181.  And  .  .  .  way.  That  which  seems 
impossible  in  the  light  of  everyday  reason,  sounder  reason 
may  accept  on  other  grounds. 

II.  i.  183.  in  thee  hath  estimate.  May  be  reckoned  as 
thine. 

II.  i.  190,  191.  flinch  .  .  .  spoke.  Fall  short  in  what 
pertains  to  my  promise. 

II.  i.  194.   make  it  even.     Carry  it  out. 

II.  ii.  23.  French  crown.  Bald  head.  Cf.  Midsummer 
Nighfs  Dream,  I.  ii.  99.  For  taffeta  punk,  cf.  1  Henry  IV, 
I.  ii.  10. 

II.  ii.  24.  Tib's  .  .  .  forefinger.  The  rush  ring  was  used 
in  rustic  marriage  ceremonies,  especially  those  of  a  some- 
what equivocal  character.  Tom  and  Tib  are  cant  terms 
for  lad  and  lass;   cf.  Jack  and  Jill. 

II.  ii.  25.  a  pancake  for  Shrove  Tuesday.  A  reference 
to  the  old  custom  of  eating  pancakes  on  the  last  day  before 
Lent. 

II.  iii.  7.    argument  of  wonder.     Amazing  affair. 

II.  iii.  31.  Dauphin.  Fi  reads  Dolphin,  a  common 
spelling  of  Dauphin.     It  is  possible  that  a  pun  is  intended. 

II.  iii.  64.  to  each  but  one.  To  each  only  one.  Some 
editors  understand,  to  each  save  one  (i.e.  Bertram). 

II.  iii.  83.  All  the  rest  is  mute.  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say  to  you.     Cf.  Hamlet,  V.  ii.  369. 

II.  iii.  85.  Ames-ace.  The  lowest  throw  at  dice. 
Lafeu  is  speaking  ironically. 

II.  iii.  134.    swell's.     Swell  us. 


jl^oteflf  137 

II.  iii.  136.  VUeness  is  so.  I.e.  vileness  is  vile,  without 
a  name. 

II.  iii.  156.  which  to  defeat.  Which  peril  to  my  honor 
to  avert. 

II.  iii.  161.  poising  us  in.  Throwing  our  own  weight 
into. 

II.  iii.  186.  Shall  .  .  .  brief.  Perhaps,  must  show  itself 
as  following  promptly  upon  the  contract  that  has  just  been 
made.     But  the  line  is  obscure. 

II.  iii.  188.    Shall  .  .  .  space.     Shall  be  longer  delayed. 

II.  iii.  211.  for  two  ordinaries.  For  the  space  of  two 
meals. 

II.  iii.  237.  pull  at  a  smack  of  the  contrary.  There's 
a  dash  of  the  opposite  {i.e.  folly)  in  the  dram  you  have  to 
drink. 

II.  iii.  242.   in  the  default.     If  necessary. 

II.  iii.  247.    will.     Will  pass. 

II.  iii.  260.  make  some  reservation  of  your  wrongs. 
Keep  your  insults  to  yourself. 

II.  V.  3.   valiant  approof.     Proved  valor. 

II.  V.  30-34.  Lafeu  is  continuing  his  gibing  remarks 
that  have  been  interrupted,  at  1.  21,  by  the  asides 
between  Bertram  and  Parolles,  and  11.  30-34  are  directed 
against  Parolles. 

II.  v.  40.  him  that  leap'd  into  the  custard.  A  refer- 
ence to  a  not  uncommon  custom  for  the  Fool  at  state 
banquets.  Cf.  Ben  Jonson,  The  Devil  is  an  xiss.  Act  I, 
sc.  i : 

He  may  perchance,  in  tail  of  a  sherifE's  dinner, 
Skip  with  a  rhyme  on  the  table,  from  New-Nothing 
And  take  his  Almain  leap  into  a  custard. 


138  0Ott& 

II.  V.  42.  your  residence.  Your  remaining  in  it  (i.e. 
in  my  displeasure). 

II.  V.  64.    holds  not  colour  with.     Is  not  in  keeping  with. 

II.  V.  66.  on  my  particular.  On  my  part  —  to  be  con- 
nected with  required. 

III.  i.  11-13.  an  outward  .  .  .  motion.  An  outsider 
who  has  to  form  his  conception  of  a  council  by  means  of 
his  own  feeble  intelligence. 

III.  ii.  7.  the  ruff.  The  rufiF  around  the  top  of  the  boot, 
which  it  was  the  fashion  of  the  time  to  wear. 

III.  ii.  14.  old  ling.  Kinnear  conjectured  codlings,  raw 
youths. 

III.  ii.  34.  For  the  contempt  of  empire.  For  even  an 
emperor  to  disdain. 

III.  ii.  92,  93.  has  ...  to  have.  An  obscure  passage. 
Perhaps  has  a  deal  of  that  over-confidence  which  avers 
(holds)  his  high  endowments.  Or,  possibly,  which  keeps  him 
from  having  much,  being  worth  much. 

III.  ii.  113.  the  still-peering  air.  Numerous  emenda- 
tions for  this  passage  have  been  suggested.  The  reading 
of  the  text  (without  the  hyphen)  is  that  of  Fi.  Ff2-4  have 
still  'piercing.  Steevens's  emendation  still-piecing  (i.e. 
"  continually  closing  up  ")  has  been  adopted  by  many 
editors.  But  it  seems  more  probable  that  peering  has  here 
the  common  sense  of  "  showing  itself,  appearing,"  so  that 
the  phrase  would  mean  "  the  air  that  ever  presents  itself 
(as  a  mark)." 

III.  ii.  124.    Whence.     From  the  wars,  where,  etc. 

III.  iv.  4.  Saint  Jaques'  pilgrim.  A  pilgrim  to  one  of 
the  shrines  of  Saint  James. 

III.  iv.  27,  28.     whom  .  .  .  grant.     A  confused  construe- 


p>ttsi  139 

tion.  Whom  taken  with  delights  refers  to  her;  taken  with 
loves,  to  prayers. 

III.  V.  25.  dissuade  succession.  Dissuade  others  from 
following  the  same  course. 

III.  V.  55.    bravely  taken.     Regarded  as  brave. 

III.  V.  62.  In  argument  of  praise.  So  far  as  praise- 
worthiness  is  concerned. 

III.  V.  62.    to.     As  compared  with. 

III.  vi.  41.  John  Drum's  entertainment.  Often  in  the 
form  "  Jack  (or  Tom)  Drum's  entertainment  "  (cf.  V.  iii. 
322).  The  phrase  was  proverbial  for  a  beating,  or  for 
maltreatment  of  various  sorts.  Cf.  Holinshed :  "  Tom 
Drum  his  entertainment,  which  is,  to  hale  a  man  in  by  the 
heade,  and  thrust  him  out  by  bothe  the  shoulders;" 
Withal's  Dictionarie:  "  Hee  thrust  him  foorthe  of  doores 
by  head  and  shoulders,  as  they  say,  Jack  Drum's  entertain- 
ment." It  is  not  necessary  to  suppose  that  there  is  any 
reference  to  Marston's  play.  Jack  Drum's  Entertainment 
(1600). 

III.  vi.  66.  or  *'hic  jacet."  Or  you  may  write  my 
epitaph. 

III.  vi.  81.   mortal  preparation.     Preparation  for  death. 

III.  vi.  115.   my  twigs.     Cf.  III.  v.  26. 

III.  vi.  122.  that  we  have  i'  the  wind.  On  whose 
scent  we  are. 

III.  vii.  3.  But  I  shall  lose,  etc.  Without  losing. 
Bertram  is  the  only  witness  she  can  call,  and  to  do  that 
would  be  to  frustrate  her  plan. 

III.  vii.  9.  to  your  sworn  counsel.  Under  pledge  of 
secrecy. 

III.  vii.  21.   important  blood.     Urgent  passion. 


14©  il^oteflf 

III.  vii.  26.   most  rich  choice.     Highest  estimation. 

IV.  i.  46.  Bajazet's  mule.  No  explanation  of  this 
reference  has  been  found.  Perhaps  it  is  Parolles's  mistake 
for  Balaam's  ass. 

IV.  i.  99.  woodcock.  The  stock  emblem  of  stupidity. 
Cf.  Twelfth  Night,  II.  v.  92;    Hamlet,  I.  iii.  115,  etc. 

IV.  ii.  38.  Make  rope's  in  such  a  scarre.  A  hopelessly 
obscure  and  probably  corrupt  passage,  for  which  numerous 
unsatisfactory  emendations  have  been  proposed.  As  the 
line  stands,  's  in  rope's  (Ffi-2;  ropes,  FU-i)  presumably  rep- 
resents us;  a  scarre  is  a  cliff  or  precipice.  The  general 
sense  —  that  men  somehow  bring  women  to  such  a  pass 
that  they  forget  themselves  —  is  clear  enough.  More  de- 
tailed explanation  is  futile. 

IV.  ii.  62.  Another  ring.  This  second  ring  is  Shake- 
speare's own  addition  to  the  plot.  Its  effectiveness  as  a 
device  for  enhancing  the  complication  is  obvious. 

IV.  iii.  23.  God  delay  our  rebellion!  I.e.  against  Him, 
or  against  our  true  selves.  Cf.  our  own  traitors  (1.  25), 
contrives  against  his  own  nobility  (1.  29). 

IV.  iii.  31.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable  in  us?  Is  not 
our  intention  a  damnable  one  ? 

IV.  iii.  99.  an  abstract  of  success.  "  A  successful 
summary  proceeding."     (Schmidt.) 

IV,  iii.  136.  Hoodman  comes!  An  allusion  to  the  game 
of  hoodman-blind,  now  known  as  blind-man's  buff.  Cf. 
Hamlet,  III.  iv.  77. 

IV.  iii.  175.   in  the  nature.     After  the  fashion  in  which. 

IV.  iii.  183.  this  present  hour.  Only  this  present 
hour. 

IV.  iii.  280.   He    will    .  .  .    cloister.     "  He    will    steal 


i^oteflf  141 

anything,  however  trifling,  from  any  place,  however  holy." 
(Johnson.) 

IV.  iii.  297,  298.  A  reference  to  the  use  of  the  drum  to 
announce  the  arrival  of  strolling  actors. 

IV.  iii.  301.  Mile-end.  Where  the  London  militia 
was  drilled.     Cf.  2  Henry  IV,  III.  ii.  298-306. 

IV.  iii.  306.  the  rarity.  The  very  excellence  of  his 
performance. 

IV.  iii.  333.  beguile  the  supposition  of.  Create  a  false 
opinion  in  the  mind  of. 

IV.  iv.  7.  flinty  Tartar's  bosom.  Cf.  Merchant  of 
Venice,  IV.  i.  30-33. 

IV.  iv.  30.  Yet,  I  pray  you.  Helena's  yet  takes  up 
again,  after  Diana's  interruption,  the  yet  of  1.  27. 

IV.  iv.  31.    with  the  word.     Even  while  we  speak. 

IV.  iv.  35.    the  fine's  the  crown.     Finis  coronat  opus. 

IV.  v.  1-4.  Snipt-taffeta  .  .  .  colour.  Both  snipt-taffeta 
and  saffron,  like  red-taiVd  in  1.  7,  refer  contemptuously 
to  Parolles's  dress  (cf .  II.  iii.  214,  264,  265 ;  II.  v.  48 ; 
III.  V.  88;  etc.).  The  frequent  use  of  saffron  not  only  as 
a  dye  in  starch,  but  also  for  coloring  pastry  (cf.  Winter's 
Tale,  IV.  iii.  48),  suggests  the  figure  in  unbak'd  and 
doughy. 

IV.  V.  22.    grass.     An  obvious  pun  upon  grace,  1.  18. 

IV.  V.  41.  'a  has  an  English  name.  Black  Prince  (1. 
44)  is  of  course  used  in  a  double  sense.  If  the  Folio  reading 
maine  ("  mane  ")  is  correct  {name  is  Howe's  emendation), 
the  reference  is  probably  to  the  shagginess  of  the  con- 
ventional stage  Devil.  The  mention  of  the  hotter  fisnomy 
is  another  of  the  numerous  allusions  to  the  so-called  French 
disease.     Cf.  II.  ii.  23  and  IV.  v.  100. 


14^  0ottii 

IV.  V.  57.  the  flowery  way.  Cf.  Macbeth,  II.  iii.  21 ; 
Hamlet,  I.  iii.  50. 

IV.  V.  103.  two  pile  and  a  half.  A  reference  to  the 
closeness  of  the  pile  of  velvet.  Cf.  Measure  for  Measure, 
I.  ii.  32-36. 

IV.  V.  107.  carbonado'd.  Scored  across,  like  a  piece 
of  meat  for  broiling.      Cf.  Coriolanus,  IV.  v.  199. 

V.  i.  5.  s.  d.  a  Gentle  Astringer.  The  reading  of  the 
First  Folio.  Ff3-4  read  Enter  a  Gentleman  a  stranger.  An 
astringer  was  a  falconer,  and  since  there  is  nothing  to  indi- 
cate such  a  calling  on  the  part  of  the  courtier,  who  is  else- 
where referred  to  only  as  Gent,  (or  Gen.),  it  has  been  con- 
jectured that  the  later  Ff.  are  correct.  This  is  both 
plausible  and  tempting,  but  considering  the  vogue  of 
falconry,  emendation  is  unsafe. 

V.  ii.  25.   ingenious.     Perhaps,  tricky. 

V.  ii.  26.  similes  of  comfort.  ConsoHng  similes  {i.e. 
Fortune's  close-stool.  Fortune's  cat,  etc.),  with  ironical  ref- 
erence on  the  Fool's  part  to  Parolles's  metaphor  (1.  12). 
Fi  reads  smiles.  Cf.  1  Henry  IV,  I.  ii.  89,  for  the  same 
misprint. 

V.  ii.  42.  more  than  word.  A  play  on  Parolles's  name, 
which  in  French  is  the  plural  of  "word."    Ff3-4  read  one  word. 

V.  ii.  42.  Cox  my  passion.  A  distortion  of  "  God's  my 
passion." 

V.  iii.  3,  4.  to  know  Her  estimation  home.  To  appre- 
ciate her  thoroughly. 

V.  iii.  6.  Natural  rebellion.  The  rebellion  of  nature. 
Cf.  IV.  iii.  23. 

V.  iii.  6.  The  blaze  of  youth.  Blaze  is  Warburton's 
emendation  for  blade  of  the  Folio,  the  sense  of  which  would 


ipoted  143 

be  "  the  spring-time  of  youth."  With  the  passage  as  it 
stands  in  the  text,  cf.  Hamlet,  I.  iii.  115-120;  III.  iv.  82-85. 

V.  iii.  17.  richest  eyes.  Eyes  that  have  seen  most. 
Cf.  As  You  Like  It,  IV.  i.  24. 

V.  iii,  22.  repetition.  I.e.  of  our  harsh  feelings  toward 
him. 

V.  iii.  29.  All  .  .  .  Highness.  He  is  your  Highness's 
to  command. 

V.  iii.  32.  a  day  of  season.  A  seasonable  day.  For  the 
construction,  cf.  Winter's  Tale,  III.  ii.  107,  strength  of  limit, 
i.e.  limited  strength. 

V.  iii.  52.  Thence  it  came.  I.e.  from  this  contempt. 
Bertram  is  dexterously  turning  his  previous  admiration 
for  Lafeu's  daughter  into  an  explanation  of  his  attitude 
toward  Helena  (to  whom  she  of  1.  53  refers). 

V.  iii.  65,  66.  Our  own  love  ...  the  afternoon.  A 
puzzling  passage,  upon  which  the  commentators  have 
wreaked  much  ingenuity.  It  perhaps  means  nothing  more 
than  that  love,  even  when  (as  in  Bertram's  case)  it  awakes 
too  late,  has  at  least  the  grace  of  tears,  while  shameful 
hate  (with  which  the  King  does  not  yet  charge  Bertram) 
never  awakes  at  all.  But  the  King  seems  to  be  generalizing 
with  little  or  no  specific  application. 

V.  iii.  79.  The  last  .  .  .  leave.  The  last  time  that  she 
took  leave  of  me. 

V.  iii.  96,  97.  subscrib'd  To  mine  own  fortime.  Made 
a  full  statement  of  my  affairs. 

V.  iii.  100.  In  heavy  satisfaction.  With  sorrowful  con- 
viction. 

V.  iii.  102.  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine.  The 
elixir  that  transmutes  the  baser  metals  into  gold. 


144  0Ott& 

V.  iii.  121-123.  My  fore-past  proof  s  .  .  .too  little.  My 
former  fears,  based  on  such  evidence  as  I  then  had,  can 
scarcely  now  be  censured  as  delusive,  since  I  have  rather, 
in  my  folly,  feared  too  little. 

V.  iii.  131.  for  four  or  five  removes  come  short.  Come 
short  (of  overtaking  the  King)  by  four  or  five  post-stages. 

V.  iii.  148.  Toll  for  this.  The  reference  is  probably 
to  certain  statutes  regulating  the  sale  of  horses  at  fairs, 
rather  than  to  ringing  a  knell,  and  the  sense  is  that  Lafeu 
will  buy  a  properly  registered  son-in-law  and  advertise 
Bertram  as  for  sale. 

V.  iii.  199,  200.  Apparently  a  slip,  as  Diana  has  not  said 
this. 

V.  iii.  216.  her  modem  grace.  Modem  is  used  in  its 
usual  Shakespearean  sense  of  "common,  ordinary."  Bertram 
is  emphasizing  Diana's  cunning,  but  wilfully  minimizing  her 
attractions. 

V.  iii.  305.  Exorcist.  Here,  one  who  can  raise  spirits. 
Cf.  Julivs  Caesar,  II.  i.  323. 

V.  iii.  335.  The  king's  a  beggar ;  i.e.  for  the  "  expressed 
content "  of  applause. 


Cejrtwal  a^ariantjj 

The  text  in  the  present  edition  is  based  upon  the  first  Folio, 
and  the  following  list  records  the  more  important  variations 
from  that  version. 

I.  i.  129.   sitting]  Johnson ;   setting  Ff . 
wear]  Capell ;  were  Ff . 
Thus]  Pope;  This  Ff . 
o'er]  Rowe ;  ore  Fi ;  one  Collier. 
[Diana  no]  Theobald ;   Ff  omit. 
loneliness]  Theobald ;   loneliness  Ff . 
the  one  to  the  other]  'ton  tooth  to  th'  other  Ff. 
II.  i.    43.   with  his  cicatrice,  an]  Theobald ;  his  sicatrice,  with 
anFi. 
fee]  Theobald;   see  Ff . 
fits]  Theobald  conj. ;  shifts  Ff. 
otherwise ;   nay]  Malone  conj. ;   otherwise,  ne  Fi. 
heaven]  Thirlby  conj. ;  helpe  Fi. 
facinorous]  Steevens;   facinerious  Ff. 
After  father,  Ff.  insert  [She  addresses  her  to  a  Lord, 
stand]  Rowe ;  stands  Ff . 
when]  Thirlby  conj. ;  whence  Ff . 
detested]  Rowe;   detected  Ff. 
End]  Collier;  And  Ff . 

Keightley's  arrangement.   Ff.    give  whole  line  to 
Helena. 
III.  i.      9.   1  Lord]  French  E.  Ff. 

2  Lord]  Rowe;  Fren.  G.  Ff. 
L  145 


'..  i. 

129. 

172. 

ii. 

56. 

iii. 

91. 

119. 

177. 

183. 

;.  i. 

43. 

64. 

147. 

176. 

195. 

iii. 

35. 

68. 

127. 

132. 

309. 

V. 

29. 

94. 

'..  i. 

9. 

17. 

146  tCmual  J^ariantfif 

ii.      9.  sold]  F3;  holdFi. 

20.   E'en]  Theobald;  In  Ff. 
47,  etc.   1.  Lord]  French  E.  Ff. 
49,  etc.   £.  Lord]  French  G.  Ff. 
65.   1.  Lord]  1  G.  Ff. 
vi.       1,  etc.   1.  Lord]  nowe;   Cap.E.Ff. 
3,  etc.    2.  Lord]IU>we;   Cap.G.FL 
38.   his]  Rowe ;   this  Ff . 
40.   ore]  oar  Theobald ;  ours  Ff. 
vii.    34.   this]  F2-4 ;  Fi  omits. 
IV.  i.      1.  1.  Lord]  1.  Lord  E.  Ff. 
9,  etc.  1.  Lord]  Lord  E.  Ff. 
ii.    38.   Hopelessly  corrupt. 
iii.      1,  etc.   2.  Lord]  Cap.  G.  Ff. 
3,  etc.    1.  Lord]  Cap.  E.  Ff. 
158.   All's  one  to  him]  Capell ;  continued  to  Parolles  Ff. 
222.   lordship]  Pope;   Lord  Ff. 
268.   our]  Capell ;  your  F1-2 ;  the  F3-4. 
V.    19.    [salad]  sallet  Rowe ;  Ff.  omit. 
V.  ii.    26.   similes]  Theobald ;  smiles  Ff . 
iii.      6.   blaze]  Theobald  conj. ;  blade  Ff. 
27.   1.  Lord]  Gent.  Ff. 
155.   sith]  Dyce;  sir,  Fi. 

158.   s.  d.  and  Diana]  Rowe ;  Diana  and  Parolles  Ff. 
216.   infinite  cunning]  Singer ;  insuite  comming  Fi. 


dSlDjsisari? 


'a,  he;  IV.  v.  41. 

abuse,  maltreat,  offend ;   V.  iii.  295  :   deceive ;   V.  iii.  299. 

act,  activity,  active  service;   I.  ii.  30. 

addition,  title;   II.  iii.  134  :  augmentation;  IV.  ii.  3. 

admiration,  wonder,  wonderful  object ;   II.  i.  91. 

adoptious,  assumed  or  adopted ;   I.  i.  188. 

advertisement,  advice ;   IV.  iii.  240. 

advice,  judgment,  consideration ;   III.  iv.  19. 

against,  in  the  face  of ;   I.  iii.  180. 

ample,  amply,  thoroughly ;   III.  v.  46. 

an,  if;  II.  i.  29. 

anatomize,  dissect ;   IV.  iii.  37. 

appeach,  inform  against;   I.  iii.  197. 

appliance,  cure;   II.  i.  116. 

appointment,  engagement;   II.  v.  72. 

apprehensive,  capricious,  fastidious ;   I.  ii,  60. 

approof,  approval ;  I.  ii.  50. 

approve,  confirm,  vouch  for;    I.  ii.  10:   try»  prove;   I.  iii. 

234. 
araise,  raise  up ;   II.  i.  79. 
armipotent,  mighty  in  arms;   IV.  iii.  264. 
artist,  learned  and  expert  physician ;   II.  iii.  10. 
attend,  be  in  attendance  on ;   I.  i.  4  :   await;   II.  iii.  57. 
authentic,  of  acknowledged  authority ;   II.  iii.  14. 
avail,  profit,  advantage ;   III.  i.  22. 

bare,  shave ;  IV.  i.  54. 

bames,  children  (with  a  quibble) ;  I.  iii.  28, 

bate,  remit ;   II.  iii.  234. 

bated,  excepted;  II.  i.  13. 

147 


148  ^loa^m 

bauble,  the  Fool's  baton ;  IV.  v.  32. 

board,  woo;   V.  iii.  211. 

botcher,  mender  of  old  clothes ;   IV.  iii.  211. 

braid,  deceitful ;   IV.  ii.  73. 

brave,  fine,  splendid ;   II.  i.  25. 

bravely,  boldly,  or  (perhaps)  finely,  in  a  showy  manner; 
II.  i.  29. 

braving,  defiant,  threatening ;  I.  ii.  3. 

breathe,  take  exercise;   II.  iii.  272. 

breathing,  exercise;   I.  ii.  17. 

brief,  contract  (here,  betrothal) ;  II.  iii.  186 ;  a  brief  ac- 
count;  V.  iii.  137. 

broke,  act  as  a  procurer;   III.  v.  74. 

broken,  with  gaps  in  the  teeth ;   II.  iii.  66. 

bunting,  a  bird  like  the  lark,  but  almost  songless;   II.  v.  7. 

by,  about,  concerning ;    V.  iii.  237. 

canary,  a  quick  and  lively  dance ;   II.  i.  77. 

capable  (of),  susceptible  (to) ;  I.  i.  106,  223. 

cappriccio^  Ital.,  caprice,  fancy ;   II.  iii.  310. 

careless,  not  cared  for;   II.  iii.  170. 

case,  flay,  skin;   III.  vi.  111. 

cassock,  military  cloak ;   IV.  iii.  192. 

catastrophe,  end,  conclusion ;  I.  ii.  57. 

catch,  seize  (mentally),  perceive;   I.  iii.  176. 

challenge,  assert;   II.  iii.  141. 

change,  exchange;   III.  ii.  100. 

chape,  the  metal  tip  of  a  scabbard ;   IV.  iii.  164. 

charge,  expense;   II.  iii.  121. 

check,  rebuke,  chide ;   I.  i.  76. 

chough,  jackdaw ;   IV.  i.  22. 

Christendom,  Christian  name ;   I.  i.  188. 

cite,  recount,  bear  witness  to ;   I.  iii.  216. 

coil,  turmoil,  bustle,  fuss,  ado;   II.  i.  27. 


^Io0fifar^  149 

collateral,  indirect;  I.  i.  99. 

commission,  warrant;   II.  iii.  279. 

commoner,  prostitute ;   V.  iii.  194. 

companion,  fellow ;   V.  iii.  250. 

company,  companion;   IV.  iii.  37. 

composition,  compact,  agreement ;   IV.  iii.  22. 

compt,  account,  reckoning ;   V.  iii.  57. 

con  thanks,  be  thankful ;   IV.  iii.  174. 

condition,  character;   IV.  iii.  196:   habits;   IV.  iii.  288. 

congied,  taken  leave;  IV.  iii.  100. 

consolate,  console;   III.  ii.  131. 

conversation,  intercourse ;   I.  iii.  240. 

coranto,  a  lively  spirited  dance ;   II.  iii.  49. 

coimt  (of),  attend  to;   IV.  iii.  258. 

Cotmty,  Count ;   III.  vii.  22. 

cozen,  cheat ;   IV.  ii.  76 ;   IV.  iv.  23. 

credence,  belief,  confidence ;   III.  iii.  2. 

curious,  careful ;   I.  ii.  20. 

curiously,  carefully ;   IV.  iii.  39. 

Curtal,  bob-tailed  (used  as  a  horse's  name) ;   II.  iii.  65. 

curvet,  prancing;    II.  iii.  299. 

customer,  prostitute ;   V.  iii.  287. 

dear,  heartfelt,  coming  home  to  one  closely;  IV.  v.  12;  V. 

iii.  18. 
debauch,  debase;   II.  iii.  145. 
debile,  weak;   II.  iii.  41. 

defective,  wanting,  coming  short ;   II.  iii.  161. 
deliverance,  utterance ;   II.  i.  85;   II.  v.  4. 
desperate,  reckless;   II.  i.  187. 
dial,  watch;   II.  v.  6. 

diet,  keep  fasting ;   IV.  iii.  34 ;   V.  iii.  221. 
digest,  absorb ;    V.  iii.  74. 
dilated,  expanded,  detailed ;   II.  i.  59. 


ISO  ^li)fi?0ar^ 

discover,  reveal ;  IV.  i.  80. 

dispatch,  business;   IV.  iii.  104. 

disposition,  mood ;   III.  vi.  47. 

dissolve,  separate  ;   I.  ii.  66. 

distempered,   boding  change  of    weather,   stormy;    I.  iii. 

157. 
doctrine,  learning ;   I.  iii.  247. 

ear,  plow,  till ;  I.  iii.  47. 

emboss,  run  to  cover,  close  around;   III.  vi.  107. 

embowel,  exhaust,  empty;   I.  iii.  247. 

empiric,  quack;    II.  i.  125. 

enforce,  force,  press  (something)  upon;    II.  i.  129. 

engine,  de\-ice,  contrivance;    III.  v.  21. 

engross,  gain  exclusive  possession  of,  concentrate  in  one's 

own  possession  ;   III.  ii.  68. 
enjoined,  under  a  vow ;   III.  v.  97. 
entail,  the  settlement  of  the  succession  of  a  landed  estate; 

IV.  iii.  313. 
entertainment,  service;   III.  vi.  12;  IV.  i.  17. 
esteem,  worth;    V.  iii.  1. 
even,  full ;   V.  iii.  326. 
even,  keep  pace  with,  act  up  to ;   I.  iii.  3. 
event,  outcome,  chance ;   III.  ii.  107. 
examine,  call  in  question ;   III.  v.  66. 
exception,  contradiction ;    I.  ii.  40. 
expect,  look  for;   II.  iii.  189. 
expedient,  proper,  suitable;   II.  iii.  186. 
express,  declare ;   V.  iii.  50. 
expressive,  communicative;   II.  i.  54. 

facinorous,  infamous,  atrocious ;   II.  iii.  35. 
fact,  evil  deed ;  III.  vii.  47. 
faith,  religious  belief;    IV.  i.  83. 


€>lo00ar^  151 

fancy,  love ;  V.  iii.  214. 

fated,  fateful,  supposed  to  determine  our  fates;   I.  i.  232. 

favour,  look,  appearance;   I.  i.  107;   V.  iii.  49. 

fee,  reward  ;    II.  i.  63. 

fee-simple,  absolute  possession;  IV.  iii.  311. 

file,  roll,  muster-list;    III.  iii.  9. 

find,  detect,  see  through;   II.  iii.  216;   II.  iv.  32. 

fine,  subtle ;   V.  iii.  270. 

fine,  end;   IV.  iv.  35. 

fisnomy,  physiognomy ;   IV.  v.  42. 

fistula,  a  long,  sinuous  ulcer;  I.  i.  39. 

flesh,  gratify;   IV.  iii.  19. 

follow,  attend  on,  wait  on;   II.  i.  102. 

fond,  foolish ;   I.  i.  188 ;    V.  iii.  178 :   foolishly ;   I.  iii.  76. 

forehorse,  foremost  horse  of  a  team ;   see  note,  II.  i.  30. 

forsake,  refuse ;   II.  iii.  62. 

found,  equipped  ;    II.  i.  105.     See  find. 

frank,  liberal,  bountiful ;   I.  ii.  20  :  free ;   II.  iii.  61. 

furnish  to,  equip  for ;    II.  iii.  307. 

furniture,  equipment,  trappings ;    II.  iii.  65. 

gamester,  prostitute;   V.  iii.  188. 

gossip,  stand  sponsor  to,  christen ;   I.  i.  189. 

gross,  palpable ;  I.  iii.  178. 

haggish,  like  a  hag ;   I.  ii.  29. 

hand,  "  in  any  h.,"  in  any  case ;   III.  vi.  45. 

hawking,  hawk-like,  keen ;    I.  i.  105. 

heraldry,  valid  title ;   II.  iii.  280. 

herb  of  grace,  rue ;  IV.  v.  18.     Cf.  Hamlet,  IV.  v.  181,  182. 

higher,  farther ;   IV.  iii.  50. 

hilding,  a  worthless  person ;   III.  vi.  3. 

honest,  chaste ;   IV.  ii.  11. 

honesty,  chastity ;  III.  v.  14. 


152  ^Io0i0far^ 

hoodwink,  blindfold ;    III.  vi.  25 ;    IV.  i.  90. 
host,  lodge ;   III.  v.  97. 

idle,  silly,  absurd ;   II.  v.  54 ;   III.  vii.  26. 

importing,  full  of  meaning,  significant;    V.  iii.  136. 

in,  to  harvest,  house ;   I.  iii.  48. 

inducement,  instigation;   III.  ii.  91. 

infix,  imprint ;   V.  iii.  47. 

inhibited,  prohibited ;  I.  i.  159. 

innocent,  idiot;  IV.  iii.  214. 

instance,  cause,  motive ;   IV.  i.  45. 

intimate,  suggest,  imply;   II.  i.  186. 

into,  upon;   I.  iii.  260. 

issue,  fruit,  result;   II.  i.  109. 

joul,  thrust,  knock;   I.  iii.  58. 
justify,  attest,  confirm;   IV.  iii.  64. 

kicky-wicky,  sweetheart,  wife;    II.  iii.  297.    . 

kind,  nature ;   I.  iii.  67, 

knowingly,  by  experience ;   I.  iii.  256. 

lapse,  deviation  from  rectitude,  moral  slip;   II.  iii.  170. 

lead,  carry ;   IV.  iii.  297. 

leaguer,  camp ;   III.  vi.  27. 

leg,  a  bow  (made  by  drawing  one  leg  backward) ;   II.  ii.  10. 

level,  the  direction  of  one's  aim ;   II.  i.  159. 

lie,  lodge;   III.  v.  34. 

ling,  cheap  salted  fish ;   III.  ii.  14. 

linsey-woolsey,  fabric  woven  of  mixed  wool  and  flax,  hence, 

a  medley;   IV.  i.  12. 
list,  boundary,  limit;   II.  i.  53. 
livelihood,  liveliness,  animation ;   I.  i.  58. 
longing,  belonging;   IV.  ii.  42. 
lustig^  Ger.,  merry,  II.  iii.  47. 


^lOSSfat^  153 

magnanimous,  bold,  heroic ;  III.  vi.  70. 

manifest,  well  known ;   I.  Hi.  229. 

measure,  dance;  II.  i.  58. 

medicine,  physician ;  II.  i.  75. 

mell,  meddle,  have  to  do ;   IV.  iii.  257. 

misdoubt,  mistrust;   III.  vii.  1. 

misprise,  undervalue,  despise;   III.  ii.  33. 

misprision,  error,  disdain;    II.  iii.  159. 

modern,  commonplace,  ordinary ;   II.  iii.  2 ;   V.  iii.  216. 

module,  mere  image;   IV.  iii.  114. 

moiety,  half ;  III.  ii.  69. 

monstrous,  enormously,  exceedingly ;   II.  i.  187. 

monumental,  memorial ;   IV.  iii.  20. 

morris,  morris-dance ;    II.  ii.  26. 

Mort  du  Vinaigre,  Fr.,  a  meaningless  oath ;   II.  iii.  50. 

motion,  sense ;  III.  i.  13:  act;   V.  iii.  264. 

motive,  agent ;  IV.  iv.  20. 

muse,  wonder ;   II.  v.  70. 

mystery,  skill  in  one's  calling ;   III.  vi.  68. 

naturalize,  initiate ;   I.  i.  222. 

nature,    quality,  kind ;    III.    i.    17 :    almost   equivalent   to 

"cause  ";  V.  iii.  23. 
naughty,  good  for  nothing ;   V.  iii.  254. 
next,  nearest;   I.  iii.  63. 

nice,  trifling;   IV.  iii.  105:   punctilious;   V.  i.  15. 
note,  mark  of  distinction  ;  I.  iii.  163  :  attention ;  III.  v.  104. 

of,  in,  I.  i.  7;    V.  iii.  1:    as  regards;    II.  iii.  126:    .n;    III. 

V.  103. 
office,  to  perform  oflBces  or  functions;   III.  ii.  129. 
ordinary,  a  public  meal  at  a  fixed  price;   II.  iii.  211. 
outward,  uninitiated;    hence,  outward  man,  an  outsider; 

III.  i.  11. 


154  6lofi(0ar^ 

overlooking,  supervision,  oversight ;   I.  i.  45. 

over-night,  last  night ;   III.  iv.  23. 

owe,    have,    own,    possess ;    II.   i.   9 ;    II.    v.   84 ;   V.   iii. 

297. 

parcel,  party,  group ;   II.  iii.  58. 

pass,  repute;   II.  v.  58, 

passage,   that  which  passes  or  happens,   an   occurrence; 

I.  i.  20. 

passport,  dismissal ;   III.  ii.  58. 

Pepin,  King  of  the  Franks  (mentioned  as  one  long  dead) ; 

II.  i.  79. 

persecute,  pursue,  follow  up ;  I.  i.  16. 

perspective,   a   glass   that   produces    an    optical    illusion; 

V.  iii.  48. 
plausive,  pleasing,  winning ;   I.  ii.  53 :   specious,  plausible ; 

IV.  i.  29. 
poise,  weigh;   II.  iii.  161. 
port,  gate ;   III.  v.  39. 
practicer,  practitioner;   II.  i.  188. 
predominant,  supreme  in  influence;   I.  i.  211. 
present,  immediate;   II.  v.  61. 
presently,  immediately;   II.  iii.  166. 
pretence,  pretext ;   IV.  iii.  57. 
prevent,  frustrate,  forestall ;   III.  iv.  22. 
prime,  youth;   II.  i.  185. 
proceed,  take  place,  be  done;   IV.  ii.  62. 
profession,    what   one   professes    to    be   able   to   do ;     II. 

i.  86. 
proper,  one's  own ;   IV.  ii.  49 ;   IV.  iii.  29. 
property,  inherent  quality;   II.  iii.  137. 
provide,  supply  with  what  is  needful ;   III.  iv.  40. 
pudding,  sausage  ;   II.  ii.  29. 
punk,  strumpet ;   II.  ii.  24. 


^lofif^ar^  155 

quart  d'ecu,  a  quarter  of    a    French  crown;    IV.  iii.  311; 

V.  ii.  35. 
quatch-buttock,  a  flat  or  squat  buttock ;   II.  ii.  18. 
quean,  wench,  hussy ;   II.  ii.  27. 
questant,  seeker,  aspirant;   II.  i.  16. 
quirk,  caprice,  a  sudden  turn  or  start ;    III.  ii.  51. 
quote,  set  down ;   V.  iii.  205. 

rate,  estimate,  value;   II.  i.  182:   price;   V.  iii.  91,  217. 

rather,  sooner;  II.  i.  106. 

ravin,  ravening;   III.  ii.  120. 

receiv'd,  accredited,  fashionable;   II.  i.  57. 

recover,  restore ;    III.  ii.  22. 

rector,  the  head  of  a  religious  house ;   IV.  iii.  69. 

remainder,   the  residual  interest  remaining  over  from  a 

particular  estate;   IV.  iii.  313. 
remorseful,  compassionate ;   V.  iii.  58. 
render,  report,  state;   I.  iii.  236. 
repair,  restore ;   I.  ii.  30. 
repeal,  recall ;   II.  iii.  55. 
resolvedly,  satisfactorily,  clearly ;   V.  iii.  332. 
respect,  reason,  motive;   II.  v.  71. 
retrograde,  moving  backward,  retreating ;  I.  i.  212. 
ring,  circuit,  round;   II.  i.  165. 
ring-carrier,  go-between ;   III.  v.  95. 
ruttish,  lecherous;   IV.  iii.  243. 

sadness,  seriousness ;  in  good  sadness,  in  earnest ;  IV.  iii.  230. 
sanctimony,  piety,  devotion ;   IV.  iii.  59. 
saucy,  impudent,  wanton ;   IV.  iv.  23. 
science,  knowledge,  learning;    V.  iii.  103. 
seem,  appear,  show  itself ;   II.  iii.  186. 
sense,    perception,    apprehension;     I.    iii.    178:     reason; 
II.  i.  127. 


156  ^lo00ar^ 

senseless,  unreasonable;  II  i.  127. 

sequent,  consequent ;  II.  ii.  56. 

several,  different,  each  his  own ;   I.  ii.  74. 

shrewd,  bad,  mischievous;  III.  v.  71 :  sly,  cunning;  IV. 
V.  66. 

shrewdly,  sharply,  severely ;  III.  v.  92. 

shrieve,  sheriff;  IV.  iii.  213. 

sinister,  left ;  II.  i.  44. 

sith,  since;   V.  iii.  155. 

sithence,  since;   I.  iii.  124. 

sleepy,  sleep-inducing,  associated  with  sleep ;    II.  i.  167. 

smack,  smattering;   IV.  i.  18:  taste,  dash;  II.  iii.  237. 

smock,  a  woman's  undergarment,  a  woman;   II.  i.  30. 

smoke,  smell  out,  detect;   III.  vi.  Ill;   IV.  i.  30. 

snuff,  contempt ;   I.  ii.  59. 

solely,  absolutely,  altogether;   I.  i.  112. 

solemn,  formal ;   IV.  iii.  89. 

spacious,  extended,  elaborate;   II.  i.  51. 

sportive,  merry;  III.  ii.  109. 

square,  shape,  regulate;   II.  i.  153. 

staggers,  bewilderment,  confusion  (suggested  by  the  reel- 
ing gait  of  a  horse  with  the  disease  so-called) ;  II.  iii. 
170. 

stain,  tincture,  dash;   I.  i.  122. 

stead,  benefit,  help;   III.  vii.  41. 

still,  always,  constantly ;   I.  iii.  210;   IV.  iii.  26. 

stomach,  inclination ;   III.  vi.  67. 

strong,  certain,  important;   IV.  iii.  65. 

style,  title,  appellation  ;  II.  iii.  205. 

success,  issue,  result;   I.  iii.  253;   III.  vi.  86. 

suggest,  tempt ;  IV.  v.  47. 

suggestion,  incitement  to  evil,  temptation  ;   III.  v.  18. 

superfluous,  having  more  than  enough,  luxurious;  I.  i. 
116. 


€>lo00ar^  157 

taffeta,  a  fine  silken  stuff ;  II.  ii.  24. 

take  up,  rebuke,  scold ;   II.  iii.  218. 

tax,  reproach,  censure,  charge;   I.  i.  77;   II.  i.  173. 

that,  so  that ;   I.  iii.  218. 

then,  than ;  II.  i.  88. 

top,  head ;  I.  ii.  43. 

triple,  third ;   II.  i.  111. 

unclean,  not  fair,  ill ;  I.  i.  48. 
unhappy,  mischievous ;  IV.  v.  66. 

validity,  value;   V.  iii.  192. 

vent,  utterance;   II.  iii.  213. 

virtuous,  endowed  with  virtues ;  I.  i.  49 ;  III.  ii.  33. 

will,  lust;   IV.  iii.  19. 

worthy,  deserved ;  IV.  iii.  7. 

write,  lay  claim  to;  II.  iii.  67:  call  one's  self;  II.  iii.  208. 

yield,  deliver,  exhibit;  III.  i.  10. 


rUVXTXD  IX  THJE  UNITKD  6TATSS  OF  AMXBIOA. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


LD 
URL 


LD  URL 


nCTi2  8l975' 

UMttI 

NOV  131975 
NOV    5  197S 


^Mr^ 


■>^w. 


S  L 


2»H-6,'52(A1855)470 


